


P.S. I Know

by Draco_sollicitus



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1950s AU, B&B Owner Rey, Bed & Breakfast, Domestic Abuse (Past), Drama, Elements of mystery, English Countryside, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Healing, Love Letters, PTSD, Past Relationship(s), Post World War II, Romance, Slow Burn, Travel Writer Poe, Widowed, romance novel tropes, somehow chickens became a character in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 87,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: 1951- The war has been over for over five years, and Poe Dameron, travel writer and somewhat lost soul, finds himself back where it ended for him — the southern coast of England. There, he meets a beautiful widow with shadows in her past, and the two develop a powerful bond as they heal from their respective trauma:Poe's, from the war in Europe, and Rey’s, from the war in her own home.As summer storms build off the coast and the tension between them mounts, Rey struggles to open up to the gentle if passionate American who does his best to prove his steadfastness to the quiet young woman through his letters, his actions, and promises he has no intention of ever breaking.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 1512
Kudos: 414





	1. Hope Cottage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to the first of my intended Damerey Romance Novel series, _P.S. I Know_
> 
> This fic contains general warnings for: **(past) domestic abuse/intimate partner violence, PTSD**
> 
> Rey is a widow, formerly married to Ben Solo (the source of the abuse). This fic is **not** tagged as **Reylo,** but I wanted you to know now in case you didn't want to read a fic where she was previously married to him. 
> 
> This fic will update every **Sunday morning** and every Wednesday, an auxiliary chapter - comprised of letters - will post. 
> 
> Like most romance novels, this fic contains multiple POV between Poe and Rey, sometimes without page breaks - I'll make it as clear as possible when it switches, however.
> 
> Thanks for giving this a chance - this is the most excited I've been for a fic in a long time. Without further ado:
> 
> _P.S. I Know_

_To my wife, on our wedding day:_

_I have fought, and I have lost._

_War brought me to my knees, and fire nearly killed me._

_But you._

_God, you._

_Gravity cannot pin me down the way your eyes do._

_Forget stars. Moons. Planets._

_In your eyes, my love, I was reborn, blazing into light so bright I forgot what darkness ever was._

_I am yours, entire, unending, forever,_

_\- PD_

_November 11, 1952_

* * *

_May 1951_

“Not too long now.” 

Poe nodded at his unlikely traveling companion, an elderly, wizened woman who barely came up to his elbow. They stared out at the white cliffs looming in the near distance, and Poe tightened his jaw subconsciously. He hadn’t laid eyes on those cliffs for seven years, not since he was sent to rehabilitate and his career as a pilot ended and the loss of his fallen brothers was still fresh and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever walk again.

“You’ll be alright.” Margaret Kanata, or Maz as she’d introduced herself to Poe, patted him kindly on the arm. “Scars heal best when you go to the source, Captain.”

“I-” Poe paused, frowning. He didn’t think he’d given his rank to the old woman, but her placid smile settled him somewhat; perhaps he didn’t recall introducing himself. It wouldn’t be the first time his memory had lapsed. “I was already injured by the time I was here,” Poe pointed out instead. “The scars were made back there.”

He gestured behind them, towards the continent they steamed steadily away from, born across the waves in a ferry that had proudly served its country in 1940 as German planes screamed overhead, U-Boats lurked underneath, and death shrouded both sides of the channel. 

Maz patted him on his side, over his journal which was tucked safely away in a pocket of his waterproof jacket. “The living wounds were made there, my boy. But they became scars away from the war; how they healed, or didn’t heal, happened here.”

Poe didn’t know what to say to that, but Maz seemed content to return her hand to the railing, her brown eyes focused once more on the churning, grey waters. He gazed into the channel as well, mind drifting to the weeks he’d spent combing France, Austria, even Germany - places he had flown over in the war, places he had infiltrated, or landed (or crashed). 

It hadn’t been easy.

Not easy to walk the streets once littered with bodies. Not easy to find the mass graves of fallen friends. Not easy to place his hand on the gates of hell and whisper prayers for those who’d died before the liberation, those whose scars so terrifyingly outweighed his own.

But he was a writer, was one before he was a pilot, and he had to bear witness. He had to. If he had to be cursed with these images behind his eyelids every time he tried to get a moment of rest, a second of sleep, Poe could damn well organize them into thoughts and give them back to the world, help others make sense of what was insensible.

And now he had to take the notes he’d collected for nearly two months and turn them into a story that could be published. A Herculean task, but one he’d complete, even if it killed him.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d risked death in a foreign country.

Maz shifted next to him, stirring him from his reverie. “Where will you stay, Captain Dameron?”

“Not sure.” He shook his head, patting his other pocket for a letter. “The man I meant to stay with - Temmin Wexley-” Maz nodded, clearly knowing the name, “His stepfather took ill a few weeks ago, and they went to the city to see a doctor there.” He gave her a wry grin. “Any suggestions for a weary traveler?”

“You could always stay in my bed,” Maz suggested with a wink and a teasing grin, and Poe blushed despite her clear joke. “But, no. I think I do know a place.” She smiled, to herself this time, as she studied the waves. “The perfect place for you both.”

“Us both?” Poe asked, but Maz was clearly no longer in the mood to answer.

When he disembarked thirty minutes later, he had a harried list of directions in his journal, which he’d taken down quickly as Maz rattled them off. He squinted down at his chicken scratch - shakier than normal thanks to the rocking of the boat - and turned left from the dock entrance. 

He hailed the cart driven by the man who looked like “a ferocious bear,” per Maz’s admiring notes, right outside the pub named _The Falcon,_ and sat on the back among the rattling milk bottles in stacked crates. The countryside rumbled past at a quick rate, pulling them from the busier seaside concentration of buildings to houses and structures further and further apart; after some twenty minutes on the cart, they entered a village, where Poe hopped down and shook the giant’s hand, thanking him while making an effort to pay him.

The large man warbled _something_ at him, his Scottish brogue making it far too hard to actually understand the individual words, but when he folded Poe’s hand over the offered money, Poe nodded in thanks and shouldered his bag, grasping the small luggage that carried his typewriter with his stronger arm. Checking Maz’s instructions again, Poe struck out towards the western edge of town, the breeze still strong off the water - they’d traveled along the coast, closer than he’d thought then. 

The paths were slightly overgrown with grass and weeds as he exited the village, nodding politely at the few people he saw - they regarded him with uncomfortable intensity that wasn’t so much mistrustful as it was unsure - and he walked for nearly thirty minutes down the path, not a soul in sight except the various farm animals in the distance. The path veered right, away from the sea, and at long last, he crested the final hill noted in Maz’s slapdash directions.

From his new vantage point, Poe spotted a charming little house with abundant windows, most of which were thrown open to the clean, warm air. Laundry danced on clotheslines, and a few chickens wandered around near the side entrance; in the distance, cows lowed, and birds called from the thicket of trees that bracketed the rear of the bed and breakfast. A hand-painted sign hung at the end of the path, welcoming foot travelers, and a small road passed in front of the house, headed northwest away from the village he’d come through to get here:

 _Hope Cottage_. 

Poe smiled, breathing deeply before setting down the path that wound lazily to the front gate, scattering a few chickens as he walked. A promising place, he decided, and a quiet one, perfect to write his book.

“Hello?” Poe called when he was at the door; it was thrown open, much like the windows, and his voice disturbed some of the chickens, who squawked indignantly, fluttering off the ground for a moment, before settling and pecking their way towards him. “Got nothin’ for you pretties,” Poe said by way of apology. 

“Nothin’ at all?” Someone asked in an American accent. 

Poe looked up to see a handsome black man walking through the darker, cooler interior of the house; his breath stilled in his throat, and he blinked twice, freezing where he stood. 

“Anthony?” He breathed, cold coursing through his veins.

The man came into sharper relief as he neared the door and the light streaming in, and Poe’s vision cleared. While he shared a complexion with Anthony Muran, he had a wider face, a shorter, broader build, and his eyes were the wrong shape and shade (and also, of course, this man had the clear advantage of being alive).

“Sorry?” He smiled politely, a real nice smile, and Poe nearly dropped his typewriter to extend his hand over the threshold of the house. “The name’s Finn, Finn Calrissian. I don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, we haven’t.” Poe released his hand and adjusted his grip on his luggage. “Cap- uh, Poe Dameron. A lady from town told me I should ask about lodging here, for the summer? Do you have availability?”

“Do I have--” Finn frowned and then laughed, leaning against the door frame. “No, I don’t own this place. Christ, that’d be wonderful, but Mrs. Solo wouldn’t part with it in a thousand years. Something about the memory of her husband?”

 _Mrs. Solo._ That would be the owner then - Poe envisioned a sweet, little old lady to match the house and the fluttering yellow curtains. She probably had curling, iron-grey hair, and a pink apron with pockets stashed full of cookies - a widow, judging by Finn’s comment, with a spine of steel and a heart of gold. He’d met a few strong, older women like that in his travels. Poe smiled at the vision of the matron and adjusted the strap of his luggage once more.

“You must be exhausted.” Finn glanced down the road. “You walked here?”

“Yes, sir,” Poe shrugged as if to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, like his leg and shoulder weren’t screaming in protest. “Yes to both questions, I suppose.”

“Come in, come in.” Finn gestured for him to follow, and turned and walked into the house. Poe glanced around the front once more, feeling oddly as though he were intruding without permission - perhaps the stern vision of the Mrs. Solo made him think this - and entered Hope Cottage. “You should meet the others,” Finn called out to him, and Poe nearly tripped over a cat that streaked past him, fat and orange and yowling. 

Poe watched the cat disappear, grinning after it fondly, remembering his father’s cat from the farm back home. He wondered how the old beast was doing; Finn popped his head out from around the corner.

“Ignore Bea, she must have seen a mouse.” As if to confirm Finn’s suspicion, Bea yowled once more, with a high-pitched squeaking accompanying her ferocious yawp - both quickly cut off. “Christ, I hope she doesn’t leave the head lying out again. ‘Bout scared Mrs. Solo half to death when she saw that last one.”

“Did not,” another American accent, but this voice belonging to a woman, argued just out of sight.

Poe rounded the corner into a beautiful, open kitchen with checkered tiles and a large table set for afternoon tea. The windows were also open back here, with the same pretty yellow curtains rustling in the breeze; these windows faced the trees, giving an altogether cozy atmosphere to the space.

At the table were two women, each distinctly pretty: a black woman who was already elbowing Finn as he sat down, and an Asian woman with her hair in two ponytails.

“This is Poe Dameron,” Finn introduced, gesturing for Poe to sit. He held his hand out to the women before obliging, and Finn introduced them as well. “This is Jannah, my sister-”

“-Adopted sister, thus the no resemblance,” she said, winking at Poe as they shook hands.

“-and this here is Rose Tico, best mechanic in the world.”

“Oh, hush,” Rose said, turning a shade of pink that suggested she perhaps did not want Finn to stop complimenting her. 

Poe sat and looked around at the bountiful spread in front of them. “Is this normal?” He asked, astounded.

“Only on Fridays,” Rose said breezily, cutting a hearty slice of cake. “We do have tea every day-”

“-a _cuppa_ , as Mrs. Solo would say-,” Jannah added with a wry grin.

“But Fridays are special.”

And the meal did look special: a beautiful cake with what looked like coconut topping, sandwiches piled high on three silver platters, and tea served on gorgeous china. 

“Where _is_ Mrs. Solo?” Poe asked, looking around again. “I don’t want to intrude, and if there isn’t availability, I should find somewhere else to lodge for tonight-”

“There’s availability.” Rose assured him.

“Jannah and Rosie share a room upstairs, and I’m in the downstairs bedroom.” Finn pointed somewhere in the corner, down a darkened hallway. “There’s another bedroom for rent behind the library.” 

“Mrs. Solo will be here soon, though,” Jannah added. “She only went to fetch the afternoon batch of eggs, something about a low yield this morning.”

“That happens sometimes,” Poe said, nodding, “with weather changes, the hens can get their feathers riled up.”

“You know too much about chickens,” Finn said, shaking his head. “But I’m sure Mrs. Solo won’t mind.”

“Mrs. Solo won’t mind what?” A woman called out from the back yard, having overhead through the open windows. 

Footsteps crunched over loose gravel, and Poe stood up, feeling foolish as he waited at the edge of the table for the newcomer to cross the door. She did a moment later, wearing an apron that wasn’t pink like he imagined, but tan and stained, over a green dress - her hair wasn’t curly and grey, either, but dark brown and in a braid that draped over a slender shoulder.

“Won’t mind that your new renter has an peculiar amount of knowledge about chickens,” Rose teased, grinning up at Poe, who couldn’t answer.

Couldn’t answer, because the widow, Mrs. Solo, wasn’t a kindly old grandmother, but a beautiful woman easily a decade his junior, with freckled cheeks and large hazel eyes that pinned him down the second she turned her (frankly terrifying as it was mesmerizing) gaze on him.

“Poe Dameron,” Finn said, waving at the still-frozen Poe, “Meet Mrs. Rachel Solo. Mrs. Solo, this is Poe. He needs a place to stay for the summer.”

She examined him for a long moment, and Poe squirmed, his bag heavy at his feet, her gaze heavy on his shoulders. He felt naked in her gaze, struck to the core - like he’d been hit by lightning. Then, she blinked and the moment passed.

“You can have the last bedroom,” Mrs. Solo decided, turning away to wash her hands at the sink. She set her basket of eggs down near the ice box. “It’s through the library, which is the first door on the right when you come in, in front of the stairs. The door is locked promptly at nine p.m. each night, and breakfast will be served around seven thirty. The rate will be determined later.”

She brushed her hands on her apron to dry them and surveyed the table, not noticing Poe’s confused expression. The woman undid the strings of her apron and pulled it over her head, folding it carefully and setting it on the counter, her hand lingering on the fabric for a moment while she stared into space, clearly deep in thought.

“Why later?” Poe asked as Mrs. Solo turned to walk down the hallway leading to the front of the house.

He almost regretted it; her hazel eyes glanced at him once more, and in the warm breeze, he shivered. “The rate, I mean,” he clarified. “Why determine it later? Ma’am,” he added quickly.

“So I can decide how much trouble you’ll be,” she answered after a long moment, cradling her left hand in her right, in front of her midriff. A defensive posture if Poe had ever seen one. “You’ll find I don’t care for trouble, Mr. Dameron.”

And with that, she was gone, vanishing out of sight; he heard steps heading upstairs, creaking at times, and then nothing.

Poe became aware he was still standing when Rose cleared her throat tellingly. He sank into his seat, ruffled and shocked for reasons he couldn’t quite name; something about that woman’s appearance set him on edge, and not in an entirely unpleasant sort of way. Poe felt … awake.

“Yeah,” Finn laughed after thirty seconds of silence had passed with Poe staring at his empty teacup. “She’s like that.”

Poe shook himself and laughed too, reaching for the platter of sandwiches Jannah nudged in his direction, and their conversation resumed with chatter and scattered laughter that filled the kitchen with light and warmth in the mid-afternoon sunshine.

Upstairs, Rey sat on the edge of her bed, hands clasped in front of her. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun, breathing in deeply through her nose, releasing it shakily through her mouth.

Laughter drifted up towards her from the kitchen - how easy it would be to go down the stairs and join them, to laugh and joke and be _young_ again. But she felt ancient, and older still as she twisted her fingers together, looking down at the pale strip of skin on the fourth finger of her left hand where a ring had once shone, but would no longer. 

With the arrival of the fourth American, the cottage was now full, and she would need to place the sign out front advertising that there was no vacancy; Rey would need to do that sooner, rather than later, and then she would have to fix up that last bedroom, and then return to the study and examine the finances once more, and then head back outside to care for the animals before supper, and then prepare supper itself.

It would probably be easier not to eat. Rey shook her head, her stomach pinched - her eyes too, and her mouth, and her soul if she were being honest - and took another breath in an attempt to steady herself. 

She stood and smoothed out the skirt of her dress, glancing at the mirror to study her appearance. Rey wrinkled her nose and picked a piece of hay from her hair, wiping her thumb against the edge of her nose to pick up the streak of dirt that smeared across her freckled skin.

Perhaps she should have worn a hat - _he_ was always after her to do just that, and in the last twenty months, Rey had taken it on herself to wear that hat as little as possible. But given the way the American had stared at her - Poe, she reminded herself, now that there were two American men, she should perhaps use their names to avoid confusion - she looked frightful with her dirty dress and face, her messy hair, her freckled complexion.

Rey smoothed out her skirt once more, remembering how his warm, brown eyes had studied her, his classically handsome features twisted as though in fear or disgust - no. No, he didn’t know her. And she certainly didn’t know him, so why would she worry over securing his good opinion of her? She clenched her hands into fists, refusing to fuss over her appearance a moment longer, and swept downstairs to attend to her afternoon duties.

At the door, Rey paused for a moment to hear the snippets of conversation and laughter flowing from the kitchen. They sounded happy. Carefree. Rey rested her hand on the doorframe and closed her eyes, envisioning herself among them, head tilted back, mid-laugh, as the sun caught on her hair, warming and wrapping around her like a kind embrace.

Imagination was not a luxury she could afford for long; remembering the day and its tasks, and all the ways she couldn’t sit and laugh so carelessly, Rey set her shoulders and walked into the yard, content at least with the green grass and fresh air that came, unlike so many things, at no cost to her.


	2. Letters: July 1944, April 1945, March 1946

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben Solo's first and second letter to Rachel Palpatine
> 
> Poe Dameron's first letter to his future wife
> 
> Poe Dameron's journal entry from his first week at Hope Cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Notes_  
>  This chapter (like every other planned chapter) is formatted as a series of letters and journal entries. It starts with a letter from Ben, then a letter from Poe, then a letter from Ben again, and finally an entry from Poe's journal.
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  Ben begins his emotional manipulation/verbal abuse and degradation of Rey early.  
> He makes cruel comments about her appearance and her status as a "nobody"  
> His letters are "love' letters but they are not, I repeat, not love letters.  
> TW: **Abuse**
> 
> Poe's letters reference being shot out of the sky by Nazis and his subsequent injuries

* * *

(Letter, April 5, 1945)

_Dear Miss Palpatine,_

_I hope you don’t consider this letter too forward. I was entranced by your beauty and courage under fire — envious, even. You possess qualities most soldiers could only dream of, and I wonder if any man might possess your heart._

_We spoke only briefly, and yet I feel a powerful connection to you — our families being what they are (yours, regrettable villains and doddering old men, and mine, negligent and insufferable fools), we must both have searched for a sense of home and love our whole lives which, as you so elegantly put, might be harder to find than the end of this war._

_You claim to come from nothing, and that might be true. You are a nobody after all, who stumbled into the wealth won by a man you never met. Your parents were cruel to leave you behind and must have thought you no one of consequence to abandon you thusly. But you aren’t a nobody to me. To me, you are the most beguiling and mesmerizing creature I have ever laid eyes on. The sum of your features — eyes that are a murky green, freckles on an otherwise fair canvas, sharp bones and skinny frame — might be unattractive to most, as you yourself confessed. But to me, your oddity makes you more of a rare prize. And, if given your permission, I should very much like to win this prize._

_I remain sincerely yours,_

_Benjamin C. Solo_

* * *

(Letter, July 7, 1944)

_To my future wife -_

_I hope you don’t find it too forward, ma’am, that I wrote this so far in advance. See, I’m not entirely sure I’ve met you yet. Scratch that. I haven’t met you yet. I would know, of course, by a quality that no one could ever name, the kind of feeling my father speaks of still, the feeling he got the day he met my mother and she took his breath and his heart away._

_I find myself imagining your voice, sometimes. How it will rise and fall, what accent it might have - a drawl like my buddies in the Screaming Eagles, or a nice English one like Snap. I don’t know if I care how your voice sounds, if it’s high or low, sweet or scratchy, quiet or loud as an engine because I already know it will be my favorite sound._

_Sometimes I think I catch glimpses of your voice, echoing back through time and space from that happy future where we know each other, and we love each other. It’s the echo of your voice that I hope will carry me through this._

_I hope you don’t find me lacking, after all that happened._

_I don’t regret the plane going down, don’t regret almost dying. I tell myself I don’t regret this hospital bed, or the near-constant barrage of tests and doctors telling me I’ll be lucky to walk again let alone fly. I don’t regret flying through clouds and gunfire to deliver the boys to Normandy, don’t regret flying back or getting shot down. There’s a lot I refuse to regret as a soldier, especially knowing the evil we’re fighting back. It’d be an honor to die for humanity. It’d be an honor to die for those who can’t defend themselves._

_I tell myself all this while I’m staring at the ceiling every day ( you can see why writing to you, as unknown as you are, would have been preferable to more mindless staring and endless chances at being trapped in my own head ), and I mean it when I tell myself all this, but I can’t push away one possible regret._

_I’d regret it if I never got to meet you. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to love you, and to be loved by you. I hope I find you soon, ma’am, so I can start calling you by your name and not be so formal when I write you love letters._

_I pray to God that you’re safe from this war. That the people you love are safe from this war. I pray to God I’ll see your miraculous, perfect, wonderful face one day and see you smile. I pray to God the food in this place doesn’t do what a few Nazi planes over the water couldn’t._

_Faithfully (hungrily) yours,_

_PD_

_P.S. (I always forget the most important part of my letters until it’s too late) I should have told you how beautiful you looked today. Forgive me, ma’am._

* * *

(Letter, March 5, 1946)

_Rachel -_

_I must see you tomorrow. I demand that I see you. I didn’t mean those cruel words, I was only furious with my own injury and how hideously the scar upon my face has healed. It was projected anger that made me be so awful to you, you who understand me like no one else has. Do not tell me I have pushed you away so quickly, so easily. You are so strong, dearest one. You cannot abandon me now, not when everyone in our lives has abandoned us. You kept me at arm’s length for so long this past year, wounding me more than you know, cutting me more to the quick than any enemy sword or bullet could. But no longer. I demand you keep me away no longer._

_Let me come to you at sunset tomorrow. Let me fulfill the promise I made to you when you brought me back from death. Let us be as one, complete at last._

_Your ardent love, forever,_

_Ben C. Solo_

* * *

(Journal Entry, May 1951, unclear date)

_This place is beautiful. Peaceful. My mind feels like it has a chance to rest here where it’s green. Finn has proven to be a good companion (who I might one day call friend), and his sister Jannah and their friend Rose are delightful company. This week has passed by almost blissfully, but for one shadow._

_I didn’t mean to overhear - I was passing the shed towards the back of the property, stretching my legs, when I heard muffled sobbing. As I rounded the corner, worried that Rose or Jannah were perhaps upset or injured, I saw Mrs. Solo sitting on an overturned feed bucket, hand to her mouth, crying as though the universe had taken a knife to her very soul._

_I stood, transfixed by either panic or indecision, watching her cry. What to say to someone in so much pain? Is there anything to say? What wounds can be healed if you do not know the origin?_

_She lost her husband nearly two years ago, if what Finn told me was true. He didn’t get that information from her, but from someone in town; two years is no time at all, I’m aware, given my father’s own lingering grief over his darling Shara, who has been separated from him by the cruel veil of death these twenty-four years._

_I wonder at her loneliness, if it might be the reason why she keeps this establishment that must remind her of her lost husband. I wonder at what sort of man Mr. Solo might have been, to have married someone so kind (because I_ _know_ _she is kind, even if her words are few, for how she talks to us, to the animals here, even the plants), so strong (to have carried on despite her grief, never complaining or asking for help even where help would be so easily and eagerly given by any of us), so … beautiful._

_I wonder if I’ll be sent to hell for finding her so beautiful. I feel at times like Leander, swimming across a strait to be with his Hero, Aphrodite waiting maliciously to strike him down. Although, I feel Aphrodite might be right to strike me down for wanting to stare at a woman whose heart belongs to someone else, a woman who is still in pain from his loss._

_Regardless of the ways I might be sent to hell when I die, here in this life, this cottage and its inhabitants have helped me a thousandfold ways already. I only hope I can provide them with some assistance, some kindness because the debt I feel to them is immeasurable._

_I go to sleep tonight with hope that I will not dream of war, but of green things and good people. And if I cannot have those pleasant dreams, I hope Mrs. Solo can, for grief can chase us as surely as a bomb can when our eyes are closed to the world and our minds most vulnerable.  
_

_P.S._

_Finn tried to trick me into eating something I am sure was an intestine or something of the sort at one point. It was only Rose’s quick intervention that saved me._

_I must plan my revenge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	3. Dance Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical late spring day at Hope Cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not too many warnings this chapter:  
> Poe struggles with PTSD/nightmares about the war
> 
> Rey's narrative references abusive/mean comments Ben made towards her
> 
> Poe continues to operate under the assumption that Rey's marriage was a happy one.

Golden sunlight flitted between leaves in the warm late morning; it was no day of consequence, a day in late May like any other, and Poe woke slowly from the grip of dreams that hovered between nightmare and fantasy.

Wiping his eyes and nose, Poe checked the time on his watch and groaned - he had practically missed half the day, after all, and accounting for the hours he spent sleeping in bed, he’d missed almost three hours of writing time alone. Poe swung his legs out of bed and tested his knee before standing, his back popping in a series of disconcerting cracks as he leaned back with his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he dressed quickly in a pair of loose trousers and a white shirt, dragging his hands through his hair as he stumbled to the lavatory.

The bright green walls of the toilet were too much for him to look at, hovering between dream and life as he was, and after pulling the rickety chain, Poe washed his face and brushed his teeth at the separate basin as quickly as possible, bringing cold water to his neck in an attempt to wake up more fully. 

He avoided looking at himself in the mirror for as long as possible; when he did, he could see the circles under his eyes, a puffiness that hadn’t gone down despite the improved rest he’d received here at Hope Cottage. The nightmares still chased him, the smell of burning metal and flesh too strong to escape seven years on, and Poe gripped the sides of the basin, curling his toes into the unremarkable tile beneath his feet.

Letting out a single, shaky breath, Poe squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his fingers on the basin before straightening up and heading for the exit of his suite. The door of his room exited through the library, which seemed to be more of a private study than a full-fledged book collection. Poe traced his fingers along the back of the elegant sofa in front of the window and smiled at the rows of dozens of books. 

He hadn't allotted much time to exploring this space; despite the entire lack of a warning from Mrs. Solo not to go through it (she hadn’t mentioned the room past explaining how to access his suite), something about it felt so staggeringly private that he’d felt nothing but guilt when he’d slid open a drawer and seen a pile of papers with the name _Benjamin Solo_ in the top corner. 

Her husband’s space.

Poe shivered at the lingering presence of ghosts behind him as he crossed the thick carpet of the library, the air heavy with warm sunshine on old glue, and he placed his hand on the doorframe, imagining - the way he always did, the way that always got him in trouble - for a long moment as he stared out into the room.

Mr. Benjamin Solo, sitting at the oak desk, perhaps with some readers on, examining paperwork while Mrs. Solo sat quietly on the sofa, reading or darning socks or balancing sums for their business or writing (it didn’t matter what she was doing, Poe thought as tears oddly pricked at his eyes, because she was _smiling_ in that imagined memory, smiling in the way she so rarely afforded herself now). 

“Poe?” 

He jerked out of his thoughts when Finn called his name; Poe fixed a smile onto his face and turned around. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey, pal.” Finn walked up and clapped him on the arm. “Missed you at breakfast. Mrs. Solo said to let you get your rest?”

“I was up last night.” Poe winced, recalling how he’d tossed and turned before walking outside. 

He’d paced the grassy lawn in front of Hope Cottage for a quarter of an hour, stars blazing over his head while his thoughts blazed inside it; after that quarter hour, Poe had looked up and seen a light on in a second story window. When he looked closer, he saw Mrs. Solo, curled up in the window, a blanket around her shoulders, her eyes not looking down at him, but up at the stars.

She had been awake too, then, and Poe had felt a strange tugging behind his heart that urged him to forget all impropriety and call up to the woman in the window, either to beg her to come down, or beg her to let him up. Loneliness had surged inside him as he gazed up at her, and as though sensing the weight of his gaze, she had looked down at long last to see him studying her. Mrs. Solo had stared back at him - and Poe had _seen_ it, a thread stretching between them, tenuous, ephemeral, incandescent as a shard of light and more fragile than glass, starting between his ribs and going up to her, gathering around her hands as she tugged him forward. And he had taken a willing step forward:

Before Mrs. Solo nodded at him and disappeared from sight. The light had gone out a few seconds later, and Poe was left to stare up at the window, the memory of a bright star burnt into his vision long after she vanished.

“Poe?”

“Beg your pardon, Finn.” He blinked and returned to the present moment. “My mind’s … busy.”

“I get it. Walk with me?” Finn gestured towards the front of the house, and as they crossed the kitchen, he grabbed a small towel wrapped into a parcel. “Mrs. Solo left this for you, said you might be hungry.”

Poe’s stomach, while assuredly a snarl of nervous and lingering grief, did also snarl with hunger, and he took the parcel gratefully. He untied the knot at the top to discover some slices of bread, a hearty hunk of cheese, and a small apple.

“Mrs. Solo is too kind,” Poe muttered, his neck heated. “I was the laze-a-bed who failed to get up at the agreed upon time-”

“Mrs. Solo _is_ kind,” Finn agreed, opening the back door for both of them; Poe walked out first and closed his eyes, lifting his face to the sun. “But, she offered you no more kindness with this than what was right. I … I understand what keeps you awake at night, Poe. At least, I think I do.”

Poe opened his eyes and examined his new friend’s handsome face; Finn looked troubled, his skin somewhat grey before he stepped out of the shadow of the house and into the sunlight.

He thought of the scar he’d caught glimpses of, climbing above the back of Finn’s collar, thought of the way his eyes slipped away at times when the four of them - Jannah, Rose, Poe and Finn - sat laughing. Poe thought of all this, and his heart cried out for Finn Calrissian, whose smile remained undimmed from the ghosts in his eyes.

“I think you do,” Poe agreed, gripping Finn’s shoulder. The men exchanged a long look, one they had exchanged years ago with their brothers-in-arms, one of fraternity and grief and resolution. After a beat, Finn gripped Poe’s wrist, and they stood together in the late morning, the sun casting light down onto them, chasing away the lingering shadow of the night.

They walked in silence then, a quarter mile to a small brook that marked the side of the property, and they settled on flat stones heated by the sunlight. Poe opened his packet of food completely and ate slowly, worried to upset his stomach.

Finn stretched out on his stomach, sighing contentedly at how the stone must feel under him, and Poe smiled, watching fish leap in the water, bugs skimming over the surface - in the distance, birds called and cows lowed, and nothing was as sure as the sunshine that settled over men who were at the precipice of a powerful and lasting friendship.

Nearly half an hour after Poe had finished eating, there was the sound of approaching feet and giggles. He looked up from his journal, shading his eyes as he glanced down the path; Finn did not wake up from his doze on the rock, not even when Jannah and Rose burst into view. 

“There you are!” Jannah called out, waving merrily. Poe waved back, grinning even though he was still drained from the night before and the memory he was currently committing to the journal, his memory of the day the news had come back that L’ulo was dead, that he wasn’t coming back, that-

“We wanted to swim!” Rose said as the women neared them, and sure enough, her socks and shoes were in her hand, and the skirt of her dress seemed preemptively rolled up. Jannah was dressed in a similar fashion, and the two set their shoes down before walking into the water. They laughed at once, Rose shrieking and jumping in close to Jannah. “It’s so cold!” She protested, and Jannah wrapped an arm around her, laughing heartily.

“I’ll protect you.” She eyed her adoptive brother, slumbering on the rock, and nudged Rose. “Although, I hear there’s a monster in here.”

“A monster?” Rose repeated, a sly grin on her face.

“A monster?” Poe echoed for dramatic effect, his pen loose in his hand.

“There’s no monster, Jan,” Finn mumbled, not lifting his head up.

“There most certainly is.” Jannah crept forward and suddenly kicked her foot out, sending a wave of icy cold water onto Finn. He woke fully with a splutter, jumping to his feet and scowling at Jannah, who nearly fell into Rose laughing.

“Oh, it is on!” Finn pulled his shoes off quickly and jumped into the shallow water. “Christ, that’s cold!”

“Better for monsters!” 

“I’ll show you monster-” Finn slapped his hand against the water, sending up an arc that dazzled in the light. Poe watched it with interest, trying to think of ways to describe the way rainbows seemed to scatter and spark through it - and he missed Jannah’s retaliating motion, which sent water cascading around Finn, and spattering onto himself and his open journal.

“O-kay,” Poe said, leaping to his feet. “I’m heading back in.”

“No, Poe, come join us!” Rose cried out, “Save us from the monsters-” She kicked up water ferociously onto Finn and Jannah, who shouted with laughter.

“You’re all pests,” Poe decreed, snapping his journal shut after checking it for water damage. “And I bid you good afternoon.”

“Bye!” They chorused before setting back into their merry war.

Chuckling to himself, Poe wandered the path back towards the cottage, a bird swooping low overhead at one point, low enough for him to reach out and touch if he had wanted to. But, he contented himself with watching its flight, grinning as it cartwheeled in the sky; he envied its freedom, the ease of its flight.

It had been seven years since he touched the sky, after all. Seven years since he felt that joy.

As he rounded the corner towards the back lot of Hope Cottage, he spotted something that made him smile. He tucked his journal into his pocket and walked forward confidently, hands in pockets, hips swaying. 

“Hey, beautiful.” The dame in question stared up at him with her bright eyes, and Poe ducked down to address her more fully. “What’s a lady like you doing all the way out here?”

“Bawk,” she answered, the coquette.

Poe snorted and scooped the hen up, nestling her in the crook of his good arm. He stroked her feathers to settle them, and after muttering to herself for a second, the hen seemed to be content with how he carried her.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t wander this far out,” Poe lectured her serenely, walking towards the coop. “What if a mean old fox had found you? What were you thinking?”

“Bawk.”

“Yes, I know you weren’t thinking at all.” They passed the drying laundry, sheets fluttering in the wind like wisps of cloud bound to the earth. “That couldn’t be more obvious.”

“Bawk bawk?”

Unbeknownst to Poe, he and Henrietta had an audience.

Peering around the edge of a flat sheet, hung up to catch the warmth of the day, Rey studied the American talking to the captured chicken.

“Mhm, it is tempting to rely on your looks. But, you won’t make eggs forever, Henrietta, and you do need to settle down at some point. I know, I get it, you’re a big chicken with big ideas for the world. But when it comes down to it, we’re all looking for the right roost, and I’d hate to see you let the safety and comfort of your own coop fly past you because you’re so dead set on this dangerous independence.”

“...bawk.”

Rey covered her mouth, wondering why her cheeks ached so; feeling the shape of her lips, she realized she had begun smiling without realizing it. Poe Dameron, her newest American guest, spoke to … _Henrietta_? as though to an old friend, seeming more than comfortable with the chicken in the crook of his arm. 

She slipped through the sheets, feeling odd, as though she were spying on him the way she was moving - she had a glimpse of herself as Cassian, dodging between enemy sightlines four decades ago - and watched Poe ease the gate of the coop open.

Not a single chicken escaped as he edged his way in, setting his chicken down and scattering some grain from the bucket for those who wandered up to him, their heads bobbing as they clucked curiously at the newcomer. Rey pretended to adjust a clothespin on a towel as she watched Poe pet a chicken or two before standing and coming back out.

She knelt to the basket of wet things and pulled free another sheet, muttering in frustration when the heavy, wet material wouldn’t untangle from the sheet below it.

“Pardon me.” Rey looked up, somewhat startled, feeling very much caught, very much guilty, even though she hadn’t been staring at him in that moment.

The sun danced behind a cloud, setting Poe in an eerily pretty light. He smiled at her, seemingly uncaring that she was red-faced and sweating, her fingers swollen from beating the dirt off the sheets while washing them - and oh _Lord,_ she was wearing pants. 

A memory kicked into her mind brutally, a clip of his voice, demanding to know why a wife of _his_ was wearing something so mannish, so -

Poe must be staring because of the impropriety, a word Rey Kenobi had never cared for, a word Rachel Palpatine was taught to respect -

“Do you need any help?” Poe asked, his smile not fading as a thousand emotions rolled and clashed inside of her.

“Do I need help?” Her question came out sharper than she intended, and Rey stood, brushing her hands on the loose trousers she’d knicked eight years ago from Cassian’s castaways (and they’d been Jyn’s after they were Cassian’s, before they were Rey’s, so a woman _had_ worn them, it wasn’t only Rey who did _mannish_ things, why hadn’t she told _him_ that?). 

“With the laundry.” Poe’s smile faltered, and he rubbed his neck, staring at his feet. “I - I was getting some writing done, but … but I’m afraid what I’m trying to write hasn’t … settled enough for me to correctly capture at the moment, and … and I don’t mind working with my hands. Helps my mind work.”

“You want to help me … with the laundry?” She fidgeted with the corner of the wet, tangled sheet, still gripped in her hand. “But that’s woman’s work.”

Rey felt stupid saying it - she hadn’t been raised to think such a thing. But, she had been _brought_ to think it, or at the very least, say it out loud to protect herself.

“Men don’t dirty their clothes? Seems to me we should be taught to clean our own messes, regardless of sex” Poe said, his voice gentle though clearly teasing her; he must think it a stupid thing to say as well, then. Rey blushed - did he think _she_ was stupid? Why did she care? - and then nodded, handing him the corner of the tangled sheet. Poe took it with a wry smile.

“If you follow me down the line, we can get it done faster, I suppose.” Rey nodded, and they each grabbed a handle of the basket and scooted it along; she would never admit it, but her back was painfully tight from the morning’s work, and it was a relief to have someone share the load.

Poe seemed content not to talk after that, which suited her just fine: they worked steadily, Poe’s large, tan hands much more deft with untangling and sorting than she ever could be. Curiosity burned at her, and she fought it for as long as possible, all the way until the last item to be hung and dried.

“Mr. Dameron?”

“Mrs. Solo.” He unfurled the sheet with a flourish and a smile; something wild in her wanted him to call her Rachel, or Rey, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, didn’t want to even say _Ms. Kenobi is fine_ because that name hadn’t been hers after Obi Wan died and the lawyers came and gave her a new one she never wanted.

“How are you so comfortable with this work?” Rey asked, pulling a clothespin from her apron pocket and hanging up one corner of the sheet. “With the chickens, and laundry, and - and I even saw you with the cow the other day, getting her back to pasture.” Rey blushed again, wondering if he would ask her why she was looking at him so closely, but Poe only held his hand out for another clothespin and hung up the other corner.

“I grew up on a farm, in Texas,” he answered with a shrug and an easy smile.

All his smiles seemed easy, even though his eyes were tight at times - Rey liked to believe she was good at judging men’s smiles and the danger that lurked behind them. She had yet to sense danger from Poe, but she held onto her suspicion that one day there might be something to fear behind his demeanor. She had a right to hold onto it.

“My ma believed that I should help with anything possible, whether it was fixing up the car or working in the field with my pa. It was good work. Honest work. I didn’t mind it.” Poe looked at his hands, how the fingertips were pruning, and he smiled as he ran his thumb along the bumps and whorls. “I don’t mind it.”

“Well I appreciate the help, Mr. Dameron.” Rey nodded and smiled even though it was still uneasy for her to do so, so freely. “I thank you.”

Poe’s eyes crinkled as his smile deepened; it was an altogether nice effect. “I certainly don’t mind helping _you_ , Mrs. Solo.” She told herself she imagined the inflection; she must have imagined the way his cheeks tinted red as he ducked his head. “You can ask me anytime for anything, only-”

“Only what, Mr. Dameron?” She prodded when he fell silent.

“Only, I wish you’d call me Poe. Mr. Dameron is my father, and even old Kes hates bein’ called that.”

 _His father’s name is Kes. He loved and loves his parents. He smiles when he talks about home._ Rey tucked the information away to examine later as she tried to estimate Poe’s character, but in the moment she nodded. 

“Poe.” 

He seemed pleased at that, and the tips of his ears were pink as he half-bowed to her, a little awkward in the motion, and walked away almost quickly.

Bea woke from her nap in the window and stretched prettily as Rey walked up to the house; she offered the cat some scritches under the chin, both of them standing in the warmth of the day a little longer before heading in to start on lunch preparations and more work that needed to be done.

* * *

That evening, after dinner, they gathered in the sitting room as Finn fiddled with the turntable. He’d gone into town on some errand or another and returned with a stack of records from Maz’s secondhand store, and he set it in motion with grand gestures that made Poe’s fingers itch to hold a pencil.

Something about the way Finn moved through the world - careful, but free, gentle, but firm - needed to be captured. Deserved to be written down.

“Ah-ha!” Finn clapped his hands as the music started up, a swing number that made them all groan in recognition. “What? It’s a real lively number!”

“It was in 1944!” Jannah shouted, but Finn only scooted a sofa out of the way and extended his hand to Rose, who took it with a giggle. They began to dance with limited motion, making sure not to kick anyone or anything in the open floor of the room which became the dance floor.

Poe laughed and shook his head from where he leaned against the wall; Finn offered a hand to Jannah as he spun Rose, but she only snorted and sat down on the sofa, legs and arms crossed defiantly. “Not until good music comes on,” she said, shaking her head.

Mrs. Solo lingered in the door, her eyes bright as she studied Rose and Finn’s dancing; struck by a bold notion, Poe walked up to her, swishing his hips and holding his hand out with a smile when her eyes flickered to him.

“Wanna dance?”

She tightened her sweater around her thin chest. “Oh, thank you, but.” Her eyes darted back to Finn and Rose. “I can’t dance.”

Poe swayed back and forth, undeterred. “I didn’t ask if you _could_ , I asked if you _wanted_ to,” he pointed out, grinning in victory when she quirked her lips.

Raising her eyebrows, she turned to face him, rolling her shoulders along the doorframe to study him imperiously. She looked an awful lot like a princess, like the daughter of some high and mighty person - the moment passed in a flash, and Poe blinked, trying to keep up.

“I’m not any good,” she countered.

He snorted in disbelief. “Not any — somehow I doubt that.” He held his hand out a little further. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

To his mild surprise, she took his hand, her face bright red, and he led her to the carpet; Finn and Rose scooted down a little to give them more room, and Poe ignored the way Finn’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he certainly ignored whatever his friend was mouthing at him.

“We gotta put our hands like-” Poe guided her to place her hands however she saw fit while somewhat meeting appropriate form.

“I don’t know,” she faltered, “I - I’m too tall.” Poe stared at her. “I’m too tall to dance,” she repeated mulishly.

“We’re the same height, aren’t we?” Poe cleared his hand over his head demonstratively, and sure enough, he only had an inch, maybe an inch and a half on her. “Too tall. Too tall she says!” He grinned at Jannah who shook her head.

“You should try, Rachel,” Jannah said encouragingly, and Poe stilled, something settling into place as he heard Mrs. Solo’s first name said out loud for the first time, especially in such a warm way.

Rachel.

A better fit than Mrs. Solo, for sure, for reasons he wouldn’t look at here in the soft lamplight of the sitting room.

The next song started up, and Poe nodded at Mrs. Solo - _Rachel._. “Like this.” They began to sway slightly, in time with the music, and he nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. Lead a little more with your hip. Lean into it.” He tilted, and Rachel matched, and she smiled, laughing with all breath and no real noise.

“I”m not much of a partner, I’m afraid,” Rachel said, eyeing the more elaborate footwork of Finn and Rose.

“Nonsense. You’re a great partner.” Poe guided her into a spin, and Rachel giggled through it. “Now spin me.”

She did, giggling harder now, and _god,_ it was a wondrous sound, Rachel Solo laughing.

Poe was drunk on it, giddy with it, and he prayed the song would never end.

But it did, and Jannah got up to obligingly flip the record; the opening notes blared out, and Poe groaned as he recognized Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

“Do you know how to jitterbug?” He asked Jannah, who snorted and shook her head, sitting back down on the sofa.

“I don’t either,” Rose admitted, collapsing next to her friend.

“Sounds painful,” Rachel commented, her pink mouth twitching in amusement as she stepped back from Poe’s arms. Poe told himself he imagined how she moved slower than normal, how her fingers slightly squeezed his shoulder before releasing him; he moved his arms back to his side slowly as well, watching as Rachel sat on the end of the couch near Rose and Jannah.

“I know how to jitterbug,” Finn said, and Poe lifted his eyebrows.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right, Dameron. If you’d like….” Finn held his hand out.

“Last call for any ladies?” All three of them shook their heads, and Poe took Finn’s hand. “Finnegan, I guess it’s your turn.”

“That isn’t even close to my—“

Poe guided Finn’s hand to the correct position. “I’m leading.”

“I’m leading!”

“Finn’s taller,” Jannah pointed out, leaning over to reset the needle; the song started up again, and Finn and Poe started to jitterbug, laughing wildly as their hips and feet slammed into each other more and more frequently.

“I said _I_ would lead!” Finn shouted, and Poe ducked around him, laughing, kicking his feet up. He’d regret the way he swung around in the morning, when his joints locked up, but for right now, with their audience laughing and clapping, and Finn laughing too, not a hint of grief in his eyes, Poe settled for the wild happiness that soared in his chest, swooping into his gut like freefall - in that glorious moment at Hope Cottage, with new friends so happy and safe around him, Poe felt like he was flying again, diving low with gravity reaching up with sturdy arms to welcome him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING  
> all of your comments have meant the world to me <3 <3 <3 I want to go back through and comment on every single one, but I had a procedure done on both wrists this week, and I need to sort of limit my typing, so I'll be going through and slowly commenting - know that I treasure each and every one and they make it easier to write! <3 <3 <3 thank you!


	4. Letters and Entries, March/July 1946, February/July 1947, May 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newspaper wedding announcements 
> 
> Letters from Ben Solo to his wife 
> 
> Doctor notes from 1947
> 
> Letters from concerned parties 
> 
> Letters and journal entries of Poe Dameron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **trigger warning** abusive and controlling language; medical notes cataloguing injuries from abuse

* * *

  
( _ London Times  _ announcement _ ,  _ 1946)

HEIRESS MARRIES HER AMERICAN SOLDIER

LONDON, Mar. 6 - Bells were ringing for Rachel Palpatine, twenty years old of Dover, and Benjamin Solo, twenty-nine of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania USA on Mar. 6. The two wedded in a quiet affair in a private home in London. In attendance was Mr. Solo’s English benefactor, steel tycoon Reginald Snoke. Ms. Palpatine, orphaned for fifteen years with no surviving biological family, was given away by Mr. Snoke. She wore a gown of white French lace over satin and a veil of tulle. She carried a bouquet of white roses.

Mr. Solo, an American GI nobly injured in the European theater, studied at Cambridge before the war. His parents, American businesswoman Leia Organa and famed pilot Han Solo, were not in attendance.   


* * *

(Letter, July 5, 1946)

_ My dearest Rachel, _

_ Come home at once. I grow weary of this separation. I did not mean to be so cruel when I discovered you had been sneaking off to those dance halls with your friend. I often forget — as you are so often more mature than you were this past Friday — how much younger you are than myself. I am sorry you took an old grumpy man as a husband. But I am your husband, and I should like to know where my wife is.  _

_ I do not think that a crime, do you, Rachel?  _

_ I’m sorry for my impertinent response to your disappearance and reappearance. Really, you looked so frightful when you walked home — hair messier than normal, cheeks ruddied and flushed— that I’m sure you understand why I reacted so strongly; I was worried for your safety Rachel, as I always am, as I am above all others.  _

_ I often think I care more for your safety and health than you do — and I know with none left in the world who care for you as I do, you sometimes forget to care for your own health and safety.  _

_ But, a woman so elegantly tall as yourself can have no need for such brutish dancing, and it cannot be prudent for you or the other dancers for a woman to have such long legs in the midst of a crowd. The probability of twisted ankles, Rachel, surely increases with height — as a rational woman, you understand this, so you must understand my previous frustration and therefore forgive my outburst. _

_ Give Doctor Andor and his wife my regards and thank them for allowing you to stay in their spare room. Please give them my apologies that your upset sensibilities caused a disruption in their lives; I eagerly look forward to collecting you in the car on Sunday afternoon. Please see that you are packed and presentable so we can drive through town before sunset. _

_ Your diligent husband, _

_ Ben C. Solo _

* * *

(Medical Records, R. S[illegible], February 10, 1947)

Patient: RS

Sex: F

Birth date:  11/11/25

BP: 90/63

HR: 91

Maj. Complaint: bruising along left ribs. Suspected fracture on side. Bruising along spine — unreported / suspected from exam. 

Notes: patient reports bruising after bad fall. Injuries inconsistent. Bruises clustered on side,(pointed shoe? Boot?).

addtl bruising along hairline. Bruising on left wrist. Broken skin on knuckles (defensive wound?). 

Recommendations: ice for bruising, alternating with heat every fifteen. Rest for fractured ribs. Home - unsafe? Home visit within two weeks.

—C. Andor

* * *

(Letter, May 30, 1951)

_ Dear Mrs. Solo, _

_ Begging your pardon ma’am to bother you, but I meant to tell you earlier:  _

_ You are a knockout dancer, and an excellent partner. I should be lucky to have you indulge me again in the future. I know it made you nervous, ma’am, and I admire how you put yourself out there anyway. It is a brave thing to do what you fear — and something tells me you’re generally a very courageous woman. _

_ Thank you for allowing me the honor of dancing with you this evening, and I hope it isn’t an impertinence to say that I hope to be your dancing partner again very soon in the future.  _

_ -Poe Dameron _

_ ~~P.S. did you know you have stars in your eyes when you smile? I could make constellations of your freckles —~~ _

_ P.S. I think I spotted a Vera Lynn album among your collection — perhaps we could listen to her at our next dance session, if you’ll have me? _

* * *

(Letter, July 3, 1947)

_ Stardust, _

_ Roost needs you. Starling’s nest infiltrated by deadly viper. Importance of your current travels understood but I fear that starling’s song grows short. Cleaned up many feathers this afternoon; 2SO ready to strike at viper himself and the Castle won’t be far behind.  _

_ Starling sings in the night, if what the Bat says is true. Viper strikes with venom but starling won’t hear reason — please Stardust, the starling only hears your tune.  _

_ todo mi amor, _

_ Fulcrum  _

* * *

(Journal Entry, May 31, 1951)

_ — my mind is on fire and not the usual way.  _

_ Every time I close my eyes I see hers. Was it a mistake for us to dance? I thought nothing of it at the time, only wanting to include her in our frivolity, to close the distance she seems to have built up around herself. But I’m the fool. I’m the one who can’t get her out of my head. I found myself writing another letter to her today and had to destroy it. _

_ Who am I to bother a sweet, kind woman with my troublesome infatuation? Even if I am worried these feelings bloom into something entirely larger, entirely more meaningful than a silly crush. Her smile to me produces more light than the stars, and I see it more rarely than the constellations even given the weather of this place (but I feel a strange weather around the cottage — a cloud I can barely discern, a fog that has wrapped around its foundations obscuring  _ something  _ important from our sight) _

_ I shall be on better behavior from here on out and only trouble Rachel with my presence when she actually requests it. _

_ (But God Almighty forgive me for what I felt as I wrote her name just now. I do not know if there has ever been a name more perfect than Rachel) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words — the schedule is easy to adhere to bc I’m so excited to share this with you all. Sorry for the serious tenor of this chapter after the fluff of the last.


	5. Mysteries Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe encounters some mysteries of Hope Cottage and the surrounding town, and Rey struggles to find her place among the others, and her place in all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings**  
>  Not really a warning per se? but Poe assumes that Ben and Rey's marriage was a happy one and a lot of his inner monologue reflects guilt for having feelings for a woman he assumes still loves her spouse.
> 
> Rey struggles with the fallout of abusive behavior, and her inner monologue is full of self doubt/hatred

The summer was approaching, and approaching fast.

A warm wind had come to Dover, bringing with it sunnier afternoons that shined brighter after periodic bursts of rain. The grass that waved, long and untamed, on the hills surrounding Hope Cottage became so green in those days it appeared as if it were almost out of some fairy tale where princes were trapped by the dark and princesses picked up swords to save themselves. 

Yes, summer was nearly there, and the sun shone down on the inhabitants of the cottage, embracing them after the long winter months with a promise of better things to come.

With her new guests, Rey had no concerns at present for much except the day-to-day. She cleaned and changed linens, set the table, cooked meals, and kept account of the chickens, the cow, and the cat (and Bea, unaware of her place in the hierarchy of Hope Cottage, kept account of the lady). When the dreams came at night, she sat in her bed in the drafty attic and gripped the sides of her head, banishing the dark thoughts and memories as stubbornly and fiercely as she would banish a pesky fox from the chicken coop with a broom. 

All was well, she told herself. She had her life before, and her life after, and nothing much past a bill or a broken fence could bother her now. There was a roof over her head, and conversation in the dining room, and clothes on her back. What else could she ask for?

Still, on windy nights when the moon was caught in the branches of the trees at the edge of the property, Rey found herself in the window seat, knees drawn to her chest and hair loose around her shoulders like she was a young girl again and not a woman who’d lived and suffered and lost. She pressed her bare, cold feet to the cushion on those days and watched the stars wheel and blaze overhead, her cheek against the cool glass as her mind whirred and breath put fog to the window pane.

Those nights, she often saw Poe, who she tried to think of as the American, or even the pilot (as she’d been able to glean that about his past), or the writer (as she’d been able to glean that from the ink stains on his fingers and the journal he kept in the pocket of his trousers), but who she knew as Poe - a man who spoke softly unless excited, who smiled freely, who was kind to chickens and widows alike. 

He didn’t smile so freely in the nighttime, Rey noticed from her perch. Instead, he stumbled through the grass - if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was drunk, but she’d met her share of drunks, and Poe Dameron was not one - and would sag against trees or onto the bench at the edge of the lawn. She fancied she could see his shoulders heave as though he were sobbing, and she didn’t have to wonder what kept him awake if he’d been a soldier.

War was something she knew well, too.

But hers was a shape and sort she didn’t think anyone would believe, the battlefield not tangible but raging still in her mind. In her soul.

If Poe ever looked up to her window, Rey pretended she couldn’t see him gazing at her. Whatever he thought he saw on those nights, she was sure he would soon see past it, past the illusion and see her for all her mistakes and flaws. That would put an end to his soft looks and gentle voice, Rey thought. 

Tenderness in her direction was not precisely sustainable. 

* * *

Rey shifted the basket of linens on her hip and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She’d lost track of time out in the yard, having chased down a stubborn chicken hellbent on being murdered by the local fox, and she fretted at having failed to put out Friday supper.

The guests could and should fend for themselves for dinner - she only promised breakfast to them, after all - but Friday supper had become something of a routine with her current guests, and they seemed happy with it. Rey hated to disappoint, and feared the reaction to disappointment.  _ Would they see her for the fool she was? Would they reprimand her and weary her spirits further? _

No. They were not him. And, they were in no position to chide her for anything, as she was mistress of the house, and they were in no position to deny her anything, to offer her any cruelty. She did not belong to them.

Rey pushed the door open to the kitchen, and drew up short. 

The table was already set with a beautiful goose in the middle, and various treats stacked neatly here and there. Jannah, Rose, Poe, and Finn were sitting around the table, and Poe and Finn rose when she entered. They all smiled up at her expectantly.

“Is this-” Rey gestured at the table, her face unbearably warm.

“It’s for you,” Finn said, grinning broadly. “You feed us often enough, so we thought we’d take care of it today.”

“And we went into town to look for some of your favorites,” Rose added, pointing at a small dish. “Look! Almonds!”

“Here, ma’am, I’ll take that.” Poe walked towards her slowly and took the basket out of her hands. “Do you want to take a seat?”

Finn pulled out a chair for her, and all four of them smiled at her. Rey blinked, disbelieving. “I … well, I - I’m all dirty,” She finished lamely, gesturing at her muddy skirt with her cracked and dry hands.

“That’s easy enough to fix,” Poe said, gentle as ever, as he went to set the linen down in the appropriate corner. 

“Come, Rachel, we’ll get you cleaned up.” Rose stood up and grabbed her hand and nearly dragged her to the washroom. 

Jannah laughed and sat in the corner as Rose dragged a brush through Rey’s hair, her eyes smarting from the sore treatment, but eventually she emerged, cleaner and more presentable than she’d been in years. 

Poe and Finn stood again when they entered, like gentlemen out of an old book, and Poe nearly knocked his chair over. Rey watched, mystified, as he mumbled apologies and righted his seat. They all sat together, and Rey stared at the meal as everyone cut and served and laughed, the noise of it pleasant yet overwhelming all at once.

“Rachel?” Jannah’s voice broke her reverie. “Are you … alright?’

“I-” Rey blinked, twice. “Yes, thank you. It’s just .. it’s all so much.”

“It’s nothing at all,” Finn assured her. “Now, you should eat.” He put hearty slices of meat on her plate, and Rose scooped some potatoes, and Rey ducked her head to hide her smile and her tears.

Poe sat on her left, and she heard him clear his throat. She looked up to see him holding a lopsided but hearty loaf of bread. “Do you-” He was pink in the cheeks, and she didn’t understand why. “-want some bread?”

“Oh yes, thank you.” 

He looked oddly relieved and set the loaf down and cut a large slice; she took it from him and tore off a small piece, and popped it in her mouth without further fuss. Bread was a luxury to her still, having spent so much of her childhood with her nose pressed to the glass of the bakery, eyes wide for the treats and loaves set out. Rey closed her eyes blissfully as the nutty, rich flavor of the bread hit her tongue, and the sort of peace one can only get from a good bread settled over her.

“How do you like it, Rachel?” Jannah asked.

“It’s very good,” Rey said, opening her eyes to smile first at Jannah, then at Poe. “Did you get that from the baker in town, Mr. Dameron?”

He ducked his head. 

“He made it,” Finn broke in, “When you were out doing the chores this morning. He’s been nervous about it for over a day.”

“Oh, hush,” Jannah said, elbowing Finn, and Rey admired the handsome loaf of bread anew.

“It’s very fine work, Poe,” she assured him, remembering to use his Christian name, per his request the other week. Poe nodded, seeming pleased, and then they settled into a regular conversation with Rose’s inquiry after Finn’s journey to the blacksmith, a fearsome woman in town who Rey still swore was part-Viking.

When Rose asked Poe a question about the mechanics of planes, Rey turned her head to him with increased interest. As he finished describing in-field repairs to engines, she spoke up, almost regretting the question as soon as it left her mouth.

“What sort of plane did you fly?” 

Poe looked at her, almost surprised - she hadn’t spoken since the conversation began, content to have their dialogue wash over her. Rey flushed: was he angry that she’d asked? Clearly, he was bothered by his time at war, God knew Ben was, and -

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, and she set her fork down at the same time Poe answered her.

“The P-38, mostly. For-”

“Aerial reconnaissance,” Rey finished for him, and her stomach twisted. She’d interrupted him, and now he’d be furious, and of course he would be, she knew better than to interrupt people, she wasn’t nineteen and wild and untamed still-

“That’s right.” Poe smiled instead, his eyes crinkling at the corner. She saw no flash of ire in his brown eyes, real or imagined. “You a fan of planes, Mrs. Solo?”

“I-” She cast about, not wanting to dominate the conversation, uncomfortable with this many eyes on her. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She fidgeted with her napkin before picking up her fork, returning to her food.

Poe waited a few more beats before saying something else - almost as if he were waiting for her to say more. But Rey cut her meat and didn’t look up, wondering if she’d sweat right through her dress, having failed this obvious test. 

“Well, it was hard to get me out of the sky after they’d let me up the first time.”

“Were you good at it?” Rose asked eagerly.

“Was he good at it!” Finn clapped Poe on the back. “Our boy here was a flying ace - 37 confirmed victories,  _ and _ he was an ace in a day!”

Jannah set her fork down and frowned. “Ace in a day?”

“Five confirmed kills in one day.” Finn whistled between his teeth. 

Rey noticed that Poe had gone still. Grey in the face, even. His own utensils rested, quite unused, in his calloused, tan hands.

Finn continued on, having not looked over as he talked up his friend. “The RAF let him fly in a squadron with their top pilots - third in the Allies for victories. Our Captain Dameron is a real ace, an actual hero.”

Poe’s eyes glanced to the door, and Rey saw a line of sweat beading at his hairline. For the first time since she’d met him, his eyes were clouded by something - not bright with mirth or slightly dimmed by a passing shadow. Something churned in him, and she could see the anxious energy from a mile away. Desperate to spare him further irritation, and to spare them any potential outburst, she spoke up again.

“I worked with the RAF.” They all looked at her expectantly. Poe’s eyes moved slower than everyone else’s, but he did look at her, and she counted it a victory even as she fought the urge to squirm. “In a … a field hospital. I was a nurse.”

“What?” Poe said, his voice soft again. “When?”

“I started in … ‘43.” Rey poked at her potatoes, eyes on her plate. “It’s where I met … It’s where I met my ... “

She fell silent, grief and anger and fear choking her. She hated that it was a feeling she knew well. She closed her eyes. 

Rose’s hand covered hers a second later. “My sister was a nurse. She died when the tunnels under London collapsed, in the bombings.”

Rey opened her eyes to study Rose’s face, the grief on her own not difficult to summon. “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry.”

Jannah squeezed Rose’s arm, and Finn ducked his head. Poe was silent, but she swore she saw tears in his eyes.

“I lied about my age,” Rey offered, wanting to break the pained silence that had settled over them. Rose’s lips twitched even as a small tear rolled down her cheek; Jannah wiped it away, an intimate, compassionate gesture that made Rey’s chest ache. “They required that nurses be 21, and I was 17, so I lied.”

Poe snorted. “A guy in my training squad lied too, but he was only a year off. That was quite a lie you sold, Mrs. Solo.”

“I’ve been told I'm very mature for my age,” Rey commented dryly. 

“I’m sure,” Poe said, equally as dry. “We were all so mature at seventeen, and much more so now.”

And, out of no previous meditation, without control or thought to etiquette, without a single second thought, she scooped up some mashed potato with her finger, and crushed it to Poe’s jaw, where it stuck on his beard.

Immediately, she clapped a hand to her mouth, half-ready to apologize as Poe stared at her with wide eyes. She considered running for the door -

But, then Poe started laughing, and Rose, Jannah, and Finn weren’t far behind. Rey let a small giggle escape before she folded her hands in her lap, her face surely bright red as Poe wiped the potato from his face with a chuckle. They returned to their food, Poe pretending to block his face whenever Rey went to eat some potatoes for the rest of the meal, and a happy, gentle sort of cheer settled over them all.

* * *

When Rachel went into town on the Monday after their group dinner, Poe asked - out of politeness, he told himself, nothing more - if she’d be needing some company. She had looked pleased to be asked, if confused, and had agreed to be bothered with his presence for the trip. 

Which is how Poe found himself holding a basket loaded up with vegetables from the Kin family farm, berries from a place called Takodana, and bread from the baker, as Rachel hummed to herself and walked through the open air market, only really speaking to ask him his opinion on a piece of produce or the cost of butter.

A breeze blew in off the nearby ocean, and ruffled Rachel’s hair, pulling honey-warm strands of it from her braid. Her skin, unprotected with a hat or stylish umbrella like some of the ladies they passed in the marketplace, seemed to glow in the light, her freckles set prettily against her lightly tanned complexion. Poe tripped over loose cobblestones more than once, Rachel always looking back over her shoulder to lift a teasing eyebrow at him (which was itself an incentive for him to trip more frequently).

“Would you mind terribly if I went in here for a moment?” Rachel asked, pointing at the post office. “There are some things I need to take care of.” 

“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. Solo,” Poe said cheerfully, “Would you want me to wait out here, or come in with you-”

“Wait out here,” she said quickly, adding on, “Please,” with a guilty look. “It’s … it’s only business.” She pulled a thick stack of envelopes from the pocket of her dress, and Poe nodded, not minding if she needed privacy, even as she added, “I’m sorry I can’t say more.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Poe shrugged and set the basket down out the floor, stretching his back slightly. “It’s a beautiful day, I truly don’t mind waiting.”

With a nod, Rachel disappeared into the building, and Poe waited against the wall, leaning back and studying the little town sleepily move about in the fine weather. His curls ruffled in the breeze, bringing cool air against his neck, and he hummed to himself, without realizing it was the same exact song Rachel had been singing to herself while working.

There was a man who lingered at the edge of the crowd; Poe’s eyes landed on him three or four times as he waited ten or so minutes for Rachel to return. He didn’t seem to be moving in a way normal of a customer or visitor, nor did he have a stall or office. But, perhaps he was only watching people the way Poe was. His eyes roved over Poe enough for that.

But, the difference in their stances was that Poe was standing still, waiting for the woman he’d accompanied to town; the man watching people -- watching  _ Poe,  _ he realized eventually -- was walking around, blending with the crowd or at least trying to. Poe shifted his feet, glancing at the ground but really looking up through his lashes to study him further.

He was long, and lean - very lean - and his hair, clearly once as dark as Poe’s, was straight and peppered with grey. His facial hair was trimmed neatly and kept short, and his skin seemed to be of a complexion of Poe’s: perhaps he was from Cuba or Mexico. Poe frowned to himself, wondering how he came to draw attention to himself - he was wearing normal clothing, carrying himself as normally as possible with his slight limp, the lingering blessing of his crash, and wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Before he could figure it out, the door to the post office opened, and Rachel came out, looking tired and reading a telegram before she tucked it into her pocket and turned to Poe. “Are you ready to head back now?” She asked, seeming subdued.

“Yes, ma’am.” Poe smiled and gathered the basket in his hand again. “Lead the way, Mrs. Solo.”

She glanced towards the crowd before moving, and then she smiled, much more brightly than she’d ever smiled at him. Rachel raised her hand in greeting to the man who’d been watching Poe. 

“Friend of yours?” Poe asked, glancing at the man before studying Rachel’s face. She was still waving and then looked over her shoulder quizzically at him.

“Yes, he is. Come, I’ll introduce you.” She marched towards the man, and Poe followed, absolutely wary. 

On closer inspection, the man was in his mid or late forties, and he was dressed in a clean, white shirt and slightly rumpled slacks. He had circles under his eyes, but those eyes were still keen and bright as they took in Poe’s appearance as they approached. This was a dangerous man, Poe realized. A killer, even. He’d seen the sort before.

“Cassian!” Rachel sensed no such danger, and to Poe’s utter shock, the man held his arms out. Rachel stepped into them, and he wrapped his arms around her small frame carefully, his long arms enveloping her protectively, his long fingers holding her tight. He’d never seen a man hug Rachel before, especially so casually.

Poe could swear the man -- Cassian -- glared at him before he straightened up.

“Rey,” Cassian said warmly, and Poe’s eye twitched -- _ Rey?  _ \-- “How are you?”

“I’m well, Cassian. Cassian, this is Poe Dameron, one of my newer lodgers.” Poe held his hand out, and as expected, Cassian’s grip was ironclad. “Poe, this is Dr. Andor.”

Hazarding a guess based on the man’s accent, Poe nodded. “Encantado.”

Dr. Andor’s eyebrows lifted. “Igualmente.” Releasing Poe’s hand, he turned to Rachel. “Jyn wants to know when we will see you next. She misses you, not that she would ever say it.”

“I miss her too,” Rachel said softly. Jyn must be Dr. Andor’s wife, then. His entire face seemed to relax when he said her name. “Name the day, I’ll be there. If you all can spare me,” she added, turning to Poe with a guilty expression.

Something cold was in Andor’s eyes before Poe spoke, and he let his confusion show. “Mrs. Solo, you certainly don’t need our approval for anything. We’d be sad to lose you for a day, but you’re so kind to us, ma’am, we’d never begrudge you anything.”

Andor blinked, and Poe swore the fury vanished somewhat with it; he still felt suspicion rolling off him in waves as he shifted the basket to his other hand.

Rachel noticed the movement, of course. “Oh, I don’t mean to keep you out. We should be headed back, Cassian, I’m sorry.”

“I’m more than happy to wait, or carry your things back for you,” Poe said, shaking his head, but Rachel was clearly determined.

“No, no, we’ll walk back together. I’ll see you soon, Cassian?” 

“Soon,” Dr. Andor agreed, his eyes never leaving Poe’s face. “Rachel did not mention she had another lodger. I look forward to learning more about you, Mr. Dameron.”

“Likewise,” Poe said, wondering what the hell was going on, but Rey was already waving farewell and heading off towards the edge of town, so Poe nodded and followed in her footsteps, Cassian Andor’s eyes a physical presence on his back the entire length of the street.

The walk back to Hope Cottage was uneventful, and neither of them felt the need to fill the time with mindless chatter; Poe, who’d always been a nervous talker, was glad for the peace that settled over them, although he could sense Rachel’s mind was half a galaxy away, and he himself had burning questions for some of what went unsaid by Dr. Andor.

When they arrived, Poe headed into the kitchen to set the fruits and vegetables away correctly, and Rey went out back to take down some laundry and to check on the coop.

After putting away the last rutabaga, Poe took the basket out back to ask Rachel where he should put it. She was tussling with a loose chicken as he approached, and he called out softly so as not to startle her when he was too near -- she did seem to startle easily, and best not to startle her  _ or  _ the chicken she was quarreling with.

“Mrs. Solo?”

“Yes?” Rachel looked back at him, holding the chicken upside down, letting the wings flap out futilely before the chicken sagged and gave up. She righted the bird and tucked it safely in the crook of her arm, smoothing down the feathers.

Poe watched her do so with a smile before holding up the basket. “Where should I put this?”

“Oh!” She walked to the coop and tossed the chicken back in, brushing off a loose feather from her sweater before turning around. “I can take it-”

“Uhm.” Poe’s face heated up. “Ma’am?”

“Yes?” Her hand was still extended for the basket.

“The chicken, she, um.” Poe cleared his throat. “She got you, ma’am.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel blinked, confused, and Poe wished fervently for some lightning to strike him on this clear, beautiful June day.

“The chicken,” he repeated weakly. “She … she viewed your arms as a latrine, ma’am.” Poe fought the urge to slap a hand to his face in embarrassment.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel so ol-” Rachel stopped in the middle of her cross speech, her hands on her hips, and her eyes widened comically as his words caught up with her. “Oh.” She looked down, at the streak of filth on her pretty, green sweater. “Oh, no.”

“We can clean it off,” Poe said quickly, setting the basket down at the fence of the coop and making sure the gate was locked behind Rachel before he examined the stain. “We can definitely clean it, it’s not even dry yet-”

“Well then, we should clean it.” Rachel unbuttoned her sweater quickly, and Poe almost reached to help her before mentally slapping himself - and then mentally slapping himself  _ twice  _ for how his body reacted to the idea of unbuttoning Rachel’s sweater with Rachel in it, sliding the smooth, pearly buttons between the fabric, releasing the woolly sweater over the soft swell of her --

He mentally slapped himself a third time for good measure and held his hands out for the soiled sweater. 

“If we get this into some hot water, I don’t see any reason it should stain,” Poe said, examining it closer, now that it wasn’t encasing Rachel’s figure distractingly. “If we-” He looked up, and paused.

He’d never seen Mrs. Solo with any sort of short sleeve, after all. The sleeves of her dresses and shirts reached her elbow, or her wrist.

And he knew why, now.

It was modesty, surely, that caused her to dress as conservatively as she did -- because she did have a terrific figure, one that had caused him distraction and guilt on many occasions now -- but it was also the matter of her right arm. Her upper right arm, now bared to the sunlight - with a horrible, red scar that stretched a length that would be covered by his hand, or maybe longer.

Poe had seen wounds on the battlefield, had many of his own - he’d seen bullet holes and slashes from a knife, cannon fire and even wildly enough arrow scars. But the mark on Rachel Solo’s arm wasn’t any of those things.

It was a burn.

Straight. Thin. Purposeful.

“Excuse me.” Rachel snatched the sweater out of his hand, her cheeks flushed beyond heat and sun exposure. 

“I - I’m sorry, I-” Poe shook himself, but Rachel turned her back on him, her spine stiff and straight.

“I can take care of it. Thank you.” 

She walked away quickly, and Poe could only watch her, his stomach in knots and his mind roiling, trying to piece together why she would have such a scar. Why she would hide it. Why his instincts were screaming at him that there was something else there, if only he could see it.

* * *

Later that evening, Poe’s mind still hadn’t settled: too many mysteries, it seemed, between Cassian Andor’s odd suspicion of him in the marketplace, Rachel’s scar, her reaction to him seeing it -- and now his mind wouldn’t go to sleep.

So, he left his bedroom, half-intending to go outside and catch some air, but walking through the small library, Poe decided it might be time to try and distract himself fully from his thoughts.

He grabbed a volume of Dickens and read the first few pages; all that happened was that his eyes felt gritty, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed the tome back with a hasty apology to Copperfield. Next, he tried Austen, to the same effect. 

Finally, he grabbed Tess of the D’urbervilles, hoping that her tale of woe would be enough to distract him from his own.

The book felt odd in his hands as he settled in an armchair - luckily, Rachel hadn’t indicated to him a reason or a desire for him not to use the study or any of its effects, even though it had clearly been her husband’s room. Still, he felt strange, as though the ghost of Benjamin Solo were studying him as he sank back and cracked open Hardy’s tragedy.

There was a bookmark of sorts in the novel -- something denting the pages. Poe frowned and flipped to that page, rather than focus on the opening lines.

Flipped, and then froze.

Staring up at him from the pages was perhaps the most surprising bookmark he'd ever seen: a diamond necklace.

Poe lifted it, hands shaking, and watched as the light from the lamp caught drowsily in the small, splendid gems and dazzled against the wall, the sofa, the books, as the necklace twisted and undulated in his hands.

It was an ostentatious thing, heavy and the chain invisible under the weight of the diamonds. Poe couldn’t even imagine the cost of such an item, and as he weighed it in his hand, he wondered how any neck could bear it, especially one as slender as the one it seemed intended for, given its size.

An expensive gift, surely - so why was it hidden among the pages of a discarded novel, tucked away among the shelves of a dead man. A horrible thought occurred to Poe: that Benjamin Solo intended to give this to his wife and died before he could. And then, another horrible thought: how could he possibly give this to Rachel in any sort of way that wouldn’t upset her? Surely, an unexpected recollection of her husband would pain her.

(And another, guiltier, selfish thought: that he certainly wouldn’t relish giving the woman he was growing to care for a gift from another man, a man she had loved enough to marry)

He resolved to solve the issue in the morning, and for the time being, tucked the necklace and the novel under a pillow on the sofa; he retired to his bedroom once more, his mind even more clouded by the mysteries of this cottage and its owner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what all THAT was about?!?!
> 
> (From the page of the novel where the necklace was hiding:  
>  _"the sudden vision of his passion for herself as a factor in this result [giving her the gifts] so distressed her that, beginning with one slow tear, and then another, she wept outright"_ aka Alec was trash in TotD and Ben was trash here, and gifts =/= love)
> 
> More on the necklace, and Cassian/Jyn's relationship to Rey, and Poe's feelings for Rey -- in Wednesday's update :) 
> 
> Thank you SO Much - you guys have been so awesome and supportive and it's making this even more fun to write and to see your reactions!! Thank you thank you!


	6. Letters and News: 1949, 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Personal letters to Rachel Solo-Palpatine in 1949; a letter seeking legal advice in 1949; a letter to Rachel Solo in 1951; and, an announcement in the London Times, 1949

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _NOTES_  
>  If you've been skipping the little interludes for whatever reason ... there's a LOT that's revealed in this chapter!!! Also, we get two voices we haven't heard yet: Jyn Erso and Bodhi Rook!! (Yes I always sneak RO in where I can)
> 
> This is an angsty update as always, with plenty of warnings (see below), but I hope it clears up some mysteries, while creating more ....
> 
>  **WARNINGS**  
>  Implied abuse//ongoing physical and verbal/emotional abuse and domestic violence (1949)
> 
> Ben's letter to Rey is emotionally manipulative/abusive
> 
> Reference to unpleasant death of character

* * *

(Letter, April 16, 1949)

_Starling,_

_I read a funny anecdote in the paper about migratory birds and their nests. Did you know that no matter how far they fly, they’ll always remember the way back to their roost? How important it must be for them to have it put to memory like that, so that no matter what happens to them in their migration, no matter how they lose their way or how dark the night is … they’ll always be welcomed home._

_My husband would like to know how your neck is. He was particularly concerned that you’d fallen in such a way to hurt it - at least you can still use your voice, starling. I hope you know you can always use your voice -- you’ll find that many people care about what you have to say. It would be a sad world, I think, where I couldn’t hear your voice any longer. I’d take any pains to insure its continuation._

_I think I’ll go walking past the Cottage tomorrow afternoon. I found a sweet little path that follows the back of your property, and I do believe that my walks will often take me past the Cottage in the afternoon. I enjoy the view, and as always, I will keep my ears open for any sort of birdsong._

_All our love,_

_Stardust_

* * *

(Letter, May 20, 1949)

_Mme. Mothma,_

_I know it has been many years since I sought your legal assistance, but Baze, Chirrut and I were wondering: what are the precise legal grounds for a homicide to be justifiable?_

_Chirrut is dictating this letter to me, and he would like me to expressly reassure you that no homicide has taken place_ ~~_yet_~~ _._

_We hope these years have treated you well, Mme. Mothma, and we look forward to your reply. Please let us know how we can be of any assistance to you in return._

_With best wishes,_

_Bodhi Rook_

_(and Chirrut and Baze, but they did not wish to write this letter themselves, so they are on a separate line)_

* * *

(April 13, 1949)

_My dearest Rachel,_

_I want you to know how much I love you, as ever. You are my other half - you complete me, and I complete you. Surely, the loneliness you felt - and have often told me of - before we met, the same loneliness I felt so keenly before you burst into that field hospital and into my life, reminds you of the utmost importance that we stay unified, two halves of a whole, together. Together, we can face whatever this life throws at us. Together, we are better. Not alone, but together._

_My dearest, I am sorry I broke your necklace. As always, my first priority is your happiness and your health. I understand that the necklace, as hideous as it was, was important to you. Why it was, I cannot say, for you did not stop to explain it to me when you left the house in a rainstorm. You could have caught your death, Rachel - all over a necklace. But regardless, I upset you, and I am sorry that you were so distraught over a necklace. It clearly meant a great deal to you._

_Rather than repair it, so that it could go back around your neck as a permanent, ugly reminder of a fight we once had, where we both said things we didn’t mean, and did things we regret, I decided to fetch you a new necklace. I went to London in a day to get this for you, and had it made to perfectly fit your elegant neck - which deserves adornment worthy of its beauty. Please accept these diamonds as an apology for the lost necklace which will soon hopefully fade from memory._

_You are my wife, Rachel. In the eyes of God and of the British government, you are my wife, and I should see to it that you are happy as it is my responsibility and duty to care for you when no one else will. I am sorry that something as silly as a necklace came between us, and I remain your devoted spouse, who loves you as no one else has or can._

_Your husband,_

_Benjamin_

* * *

(Letter, September 17, 1949)

_Starling,_

_Lovely weather We’re having. I think we’ll be Going into the city After all. With the solstice behind us, it’s getting Dark sooner and sooner, but the office has been staying open just as Late, almost_ _10 pm_ _some nights, so it’s been hard for my darling husband and I to get away from his work. Can you believe that the butcher tried to pay us in Meat the other day? He insisted on paying Us something because money’s been so tight, but I don’t know where his head was At giving us Fifteen pounds of chuck. It’s been a lovely fall, but I’ve been sneezing as the Sycamores have been sending something into the air For the season. What a strange Send-off for summer._

_I think we’ll be able to take the boat out once more, though._

_I hope this letter finds you well, starling. Say hello to Benjamin._

_All our love,_

_Stardust_

* * *

(Letter, June 6, 1951 - Unsent)

_Mrs. Solo,_

_I’m sorry, ma’am, that I was so rude earlier. I don’t know what it is that came over me, to be so absolutely, inexcusably impolite. If I gave any offense, consider me your humble servant, and allow me to do anything - go on any errand, clean the chicken coop, make (and burn) dinner for a week - to make it up to you._ _~~Do you want the moon? Because I’d get you the moon if I could.~~ _

_I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I know I stumble around anyway with my curiosity and rough manners. Please, please don’t think my behavior was in any way warranted, and as much as it mortifies me to admit it, I will to spare you any possible anxiety - if you find that I’m staring at you, ma’am (not the way I stared today, when I was a total dud and ruined a pleasant afternoon spent at your side), it’s not for any reason that should cause you upset. I’m staring at you, Mrs. Solo, because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and I can’t find the strength to look away. Even if I know I should. It’s like gravity, being near you. And every time you look at me, I’m falling a little more._

_-Poe Dameron_

_P.S. This letter will probably only upset you more, or cause you_ _more_ _anxiety, which is the exact opposite of what I want, so I’ll try it again and give you information that you’ll find useful and not bothersome. Some things are better left unsaid, I suppose._

* * *

(Letter, June 6, 1951)

_Dear Mrs. Solo,_

_I enjoyed our time in town this afternoon. It’s been a pleasant time here at Hope Cottage, and it’s in no small thanks to our excellent host. I fear that I caused a disruption to the pleasantness with my rude and coarse behavior this afternoon - there’s never an excuse for staring at a lady, and I apologize most sincerely._

_I’m writing you this letter so that you can choose to respond to me when you see fit - which might be never, and I’d understand - but I really do need to inform you of something I stumbled across in the private library adjoined to my room. I found a necklace, ma’am, that looks like it cost a pretty penny, hidden in a book. I don’t know how it got there, but I put it in the top drawer of the desk in the study where it would be safe. You have my solemn oath that I didn’t pick around in Mr. Solo’s desk, ma’am. I’d never intrude on a sacred space like that, and I’m sorry for any unintended upset._

_-Poe Dameron_

_P.S. Thank you again for allowing me the use of the library. I find that reading helps me escape to a world where folks weren’t quite as determined to destroy each other, to a happier place and a different time - it also allows me to escape my current task of writing about my travels, a means of procrastination which, while certainly frustrating to my ever patient editor, is certainly more enjoyable than my past method of standing on my head until I either fell over or lost sensation in my feet._

* * *

* * *

_(London Times,_ Afternoon Edition, 1949 _)_

AMERICAN EX-PATRIATE FOUND DEAD IN WATER

DOVER, Sep. 20, - Benjamin C. Solo, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, was found dead, presumed drowned off the coast of Dover two days ago, and upon proper identification, death was confirmed officially. Evidence points to accidental death, but investigation ongoing. More to come as local police conclude their investigation.

Solo is survived by his mother, Leia Organa of Philadelphia, and his wife, Rachel Solo, née Palpatine, famed heiress who skyrocketed to fame four years ago upon discovery of her connection to the Palpatine family.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! There's a lot to unpack there....
> 
> I hope I still have your interest, and I'd love, love, love to hear your theories! 
> 
> How did Ben Solo die? Did he actually drown? What HAPPENED in September of 1949? How will Rey react to Poe's letter?And will Poe ever put his mouth on Rey's mouth!?
> 
> Find out next time (or... you know, in like, 50,000 words or so) on "P.S. I Know"


	7. A Day at the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and his new friends head to the beach, minus an important person; a chance encounter with a part of Rey's past gives Rey and Poe a new reason to spend time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO sorry this has been a weird week and I sort of only was able to sit down and start officially writing this chapter past the outline like, two or so hours ago, so I'm sorry it's later than normal (late enough that AO3 thinks it's the 23) and probably not terribly good.
> 
>  _NOTES_  
>  Have fun with the slow buuuUUURn
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  Poe has a panic attack, with recollections of a **plane crash** \- references to a friend dying, and burning flesh, (just the words burning flesh though, not descriptive past that point). 
> 
> Rey also encounters a trigger for her own **PTSD**
> 
> Rey uses disparaging language about herself, and uses words like "Ugly" and "pig" (an echo of the abusive language she experienced in her marriage)

By mid-June, the sun had risen fully at the end of its spring awakening, warmth spreading and becoming heat that touched and revitalized every living thing. But, with that warmth came the stupor that so often accompanied warm weather, and Poe and his friends were determined to shake themselves from the sleepiness in the sudden heat.

They decided as a group to walk down to the water’s edge and splash about in the shallows - the closest beachfront with navigable paths was a decent walk from Hope Cottage, but they were sure that the cool water of the Channel would soothe their heated bodies. As they packed a basket with blankets and some canteens that Finn had brought with him in his trunk, Poe was elected, somehow, to go and invite Mrs. Solo to join them.

“Wouldn’t it sound better coming from one of you?” Poe asked, frowning, as Rose put a hand to the small of his back and pushed.

“Definitely not-” Jannah said.

“-You’re much more-” Rose continued, still pushing.

“-Persuasive.”

They gave him twin, evil grins, and Poe lifted his eyebrows at Finn, who shrugged and kept folding the blanket. Sighing, Poe accepted his fate and walked out the back door, in the general direction he’d last seen Rachel.

It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want to talk to her - quite the contrary. But he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her one on one since he had gawked at her arm like a complete dud, nearly two weeks ago. Poe was more than slightly worried that Rachel wouldn’t want to talk to _him._

Still though, he followed his ears, as he could make out the sounds of creaking wood and random thuds in the near distance, back towards the edge of the property.

Coming around the chicken coop, he could see the small barn - more of a shed - that Rachel kept as a storehouse, and an emergency shelter for the lone cow. Rachel was struggling mightily with the left side door, which seemed to have come loose off its hinges. Every time she pushed it back in place, it slipped back out, and fury was painted on what he could see of her lovely face.

Poe walked up, not trying to be quiet so he wouldn’t startle her; she stiffened slightly, but when she glanced over her shoulder and saw it was him, she nodded briefly and resumed fighting the door.

“That won’t do.” He shook his head and studied the frame. “It’s warped.”

“I know it’s warped,” Rachel said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I’m going to force it back in place-”

“You can’t force it,” Poe protested, as Rey kept heaving, her breathing coming in small pants. “Mrs. Solo, please -” She stepped in the way when he tried to get closer and help and glared at him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“I won’t.” She shook her head stubbornly, and Poe let out a half-laugh of exasperation. “I’m not some fragile flower-”

“I didn’t say you were!” Poe blinked and finally stepped around her enough to grab the other side of the door. “But, please, ma’am, a three-hundred pound soldier would have a hard time shoving a broken door back where it doesn’t want to go-”

She leaned her shoulder into it and kept shoving, twisting her neck to glare at the hinge. Worried that she’d strain her neck, or worse, Poe groaned and tapped her wrist, gently.

“ _Rachel,_ please!” He pulled his hand away when she looked at him in surprise. “I mean. Mrs. Solo. I’m not trying to insult you, I just don’t think you want to spend the next week in bed with a hurt neck or back.”

“I suppose not.” Rachel tapped her fingers against the door and then took a step back, glowering at the frame as she rubbed her neck. “I just… I don’t relish the thought of having to pay someone to come all the way out here just to fix it.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Poe said, not correcting his use of first person - he meant it, after all. He didn’t want Rachel out here fretting over something silly like a broken door. “We will.”

“Right.” She didn’t look assured in the least. “Well, what brought you out here? Unless you could sense a lady struggling with something from the house?”

“No.” Poe felt himself heating up - and told himself it was the weather. “No, I, um, came outside to invite you…” Rachel lifted an eyebrow at him, and Poe swallowed, forgetting his sentence as he got lost in her eyes a little bit, probably a side effect of the drowsy heat.

“Invite me….?” She prodded after a moment.

“Oh! Uh, I was - I mean, we were wondering,” he floundered, and the bewildered look she gave him didn’t help, “on account of it being so hot and all, if you maybe, if you’d like to…” He swallowed one last time, wiping his clammy palms on his trousers. “Ifyou’dliketogotothebeachwithus.”

“I beg your pardon?” She frowned at him.

“I was wondering - because we’re going to the beach - if you’d like to come with us. Cool off?”

“Oh.” Rachel gathered an abandoned pail and rifled through the contents, not even looking up at him. “I don’t think I have time for that today, Poe.”

He relaxed slightly at her use of his name - and how the edge had slipped away from the tone of her voice. 

“That’s too bad, we would have liked your company. Is it a terribly long errand?” 

He figured he might be able to offer his assistance - it would help her get done faster, he reasoned, and if she didn’t finish at all in time for the beach, well … he might prioritize time with her over time in the surf.

“Yes.” Rachel kept examining something in the bucket, her neck red, and Poe realized he must be making her uncomfortable. “I apologize.”

“Why apologize?” Poe offered her a small smile when she looked up at last, something dark and dangerous in her eyes - something close to fear, if fear were more like anger. He didn’t let his smile falter. “Your time’s valuable, Mrs. Solo. I understand that.” He nodded at her and took a step back, worried how the angered caution in her expression hadn’t let up yet.. “I’ll let you get back to work, ma’am. Let me know if I can help at all with your errand.”

He had turned and walked away when she called after him:

“Poe?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her resting the pail on her hip, something thoughtful in her expression. 

“Yes, Mrs. Solo?”

Her face was bright red - probably a sign of being in the sun with skin as fair as hers, Poe reasoned. Maybe she’d like a pretty hat, like the one he saw Rose eyeing in a storefront to the nearest city last week. 

“You’re welcome, you know ... “ When he said nothing because he _didn’t_ know, she explained, “You’re welcome to call me Re…” She glanced down at the ground. “Rachel.” 

Poe blinked, twice. “Um.” He nodded again, did an awkward half-bow that almost made him full-hate himself. “Of course. Well.” He smiled again, this time a real one that stretched across his face like the sun rising in the east. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance - Rachel.”

Her lips twitched upwards in response, and Poe took that as the victory it was and walked away with a bounce in his step, even if Rachel wouldn’t be coming with them.

* * *

As they climbed back up the hills, walking home after thoroughly drenching each other at the beach, Poe broke off from the group, waving merrily as the quartet dwindled into trio, Jannah and Rose on either side of Finn, laughing wildly as they ran off down the lane towards the cottage. Grinning, his hands stuffed in his pockets, Poe wandered the path by himself, crossing into the shade of the oaks that lined the small, winding road.

In the shadows, the air grew cooler but no less still, and Poe’s mind slipped down treacherous roads. He swallowed at the sound of a branch cracking out in the distance, no doubt by some woodland creature’s tread, his mind tugging him backwards as though in punishment for the pleasant day.

He closed his eyes, feeling time and space shift and collapse around him -

The plane burning. Muran dead, dying, the sounds of his screams still scarred into Poe’s eardrums -

Now, they were scarred into his soul. A different echo. A different pain - 

“Is something wrong?” Poe opened his eyes and realized he’d stopped at the edge of the path; he was leaned over, his palm pressed into the rough bark of a tree, and a woman maybe five or so years older than him was staring at him in something more like wariness than concern.

“I-” Poe swallowed back bile and wiped his mouth. “Yes. Ma’am. I’m alright.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Make me feel like an old lady with that nonsense.”

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean-” He gasped slightly as his heart twitched in his chest and closed his eyes, fighting back the smell of burning flesh -

“Put your hands behind your head.” 

“What?” Poe’s breath stuttered. “Am I - am I under-”

“Ugh. Here. I’m going to touch you, okay? I don’t want to hurt you at all.” She stepped forward, moving quickly, and grabbed one wrist loosely. “Behind your head.” The small woman guided his hand into place and then gestured for him to repeat the movement on his other side. “Good. Stand up straight.” 

When he could only wheeze, she tapped his side lightly. “At attention, soldier.” His spine straightened subconsciously at the note of authority in her voice, and after he breathed deeply, tilting his head back towards the canopy of leaves, in and out for a few breaths, she spoke again. “Much better. Good lad. You’re in Dover, in case you’ve forgot. It’s 1951. No one here wants to cause you any harm.”

“I -” Poe’s breath caught as he released it. “I know. I do. I mean.” He shook his head. “I mean is’not that bad for me - any-” He breathed again, sharply, “anymore.”

“Not easy for you either, is it?” 

Poe shook his head and looked down at the woman again. 

She was half a foot shorter than he was, with bright green eyes and brown hair shot through with grey. She was very pretty, but there was a fierceness to her that leapt out more than her beauty ever could.

“Captain Poe Dameron, at your service ma’--” He caught himself. “Um.”

“Jyn Erso.” She rolled her eyes and smiled, a fleeting glimpse of a smile that felt valuable somehow. “And plain old ‘Jyn’ will do just fine, thank you.”

“Thank _you_ , Jyn,” Poe countered. “You were very kind to help me when I was having trouble. Many would be too afraid to help.” He’d seen more than a few of his friends be turned away by their own families after their struggle with shell shock had made living with them too ‘intolerable.’

“Not kindness.” She shook her head, her jaw set. “And I know how to help. My husband’s a doctor. He’s worked with a few cases of battle fatigue. Mine included.”

Her eyes seemed to flash challengingly, but Poe only nodded. “Right. Well -” something clicked in his brain. “Your husband - is he Doctor Andor?”

“He is.”

“We met the other week. You know the owner of the bed and breakfast I’ve been staying at - Rachel Solo?”

Something shuttered in Jyn’s face, and her jaw tightened impossibly as she gripped an odd crystal at the end of her necklace.

“I didn’t mean to-” Poe began, feeling awkward while they stood in the middle of the path. “-I-”

“I know her by a different name.” _Rey?_ Poe thought, confused at the anger in Jyn’s face. “I knew her as a girl, you see. When she was just Rey Kenobi.”

“Kenobi-” Poe frowned, wondering why the name was so familiar.

“But that was a long time ago.” Jyn’s eyes flitted down the path. “Oh. How fortuitous.”

Still frowning, Poe looked at Jyn and then followed her line of sight. Rachel was walking up the path towards them, a basket of groceries in the crook of her elbow.

“Jyn!” She called out, a real smile on her face. She then noticed Poe, and held the basket closer to her middle. “Hello to you, too, Poe.”

“Hello, Rachel.” Poe smiled at her, and told himself he couldn’t feel Jyn’s assessing gaze on his face. She was terribly like her husband with those piercing looks. “How was your errand?”

“Hm?” Rachel gave him a funny look before blinking. “Right. Yes - the errand I … it’s taken care of.”

“We missed you at the beach,” Poe said honestly, and then he really wasn’t imagining Jyn glaring at him. “Jannah tried to drown Finn, very dramatic, and we-- Christ!”

Rachel seemed to blanche slightly at the start of his story, and she swayed a moment later; Poe took an unconscious step forward, but Jyn was there first, steadying her with an arm around her waist. “You’ve been out and about too much, starling,” she said, speaking much softer than she had with Poe. “You need rest.”

“It’s powerful hot today,” Poe agreed. “Can I go into town and request a ride for you?”

“No, that’s quite alright,” Rachel assured him, clearing her throat. 

“I can carry your basket at least,” Poe offered, hand already out. Reluctantly, after a look from Jyn, Rey handed it over. “Thank you.” He gave her another full smile, worried that she was still pale, that Jyn was still holding her up. “I like to feel useful, even though I’m sure I’m barely helpful at all in this moment.”

“You should come home with me, talk to Cassian.” Jyn spoke in low, urgent tones, not even looking at Poe, eyes trained on Rachel’s face. 

“I’m just a little overheated is all,” Rey insisted. “No point in abandoning my guests because of a silly bout of-”

“It’s not silly,” Jyn said at the same time Poe said, “Don’t worry about us.”

They both looked at him. “I can.” He held up the basket nervously. “I can bring this back, and then we can fend for ourselves for supper tonight, Rachel. Jyn’s right - if something feels off, no harm in talking to a doctor.”

“Right.” Jyn was staring at Rachel again. “And you can tell us all about this … errand.”

“Jyn,” Rachel hissed, but Jyn only wrapped her arm around her seemingly tighter. “If you’re quite sure, Mr. Dameron, I don’t think going to my friends’ would be an error-”

“Completely sure,” Poe said firmly. “I can even make dinner for us. Your health is more important.”

“I heartily agree. Now, let’s get you home.” Jyn nodded at Poe as she began to walk past him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dameron.”

“And you, Mrs. Erso,” Poe said, smirking at her scowl. “And Rachel?”

“Yes?” 

“Will you be-” He wasn’t sure how to ask politely, if it were a matter of politeness at all “--staying the entire night?”

“Oh.” Rachel shook her head. “No, I couldn’t neglect morning chores as well, I’ll...I’ll come back tonight.”

“Cassian’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” Jyn pointed out.

“What time?” Poe asked.

They both stared at him, and he felt himself blush. “What time would you like to come back?” He asked, awkward now. “I can … I’d be happy to walk you home, Rachel. If you need-”

“Eight,” Rachel said, thankfully interrupting him from his blathering. “I’d like to leave no later than eight.”

“Right.” Poe nodded, and the women walked past him, their arms linked, and he stared at his feet, wondering why his heart was doing such a strange little dance in his chest.

“Wait!” He looked up at Rachel, who’d turned to smile at him oddly. “They live --” _Shit, of course he didn’t know where they_ \- “It’s a mile from the cottage, on the way to town. Turn right on the path nearest the mill and head for the cliffs. It’s the only house down there.”

“I’ll see you at eight,” Poe promised, smiling at her, and was rewarded with a gentle smile in return. He wiggled his toes in his boots as the women walked away, and he was further rewarded by the sound of one of them giggling, and Rachel looking over her shoulder to smile at him one last time before she and Jyn disappeared from view.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and began to whistle, aimlessly strolling along; Poe didn't quite know the tune on his lips but knew that he quite liked it all the same.

* * *

“You were very kind, offering to come all the way out here to walk me home,” Rachel said as they meandered down the path. They had been walking in almost silence for nearly a quarter of an hour; the sun was setting to their left, casting a lovely, purple hue to the sky as nighttime crawled along the eastern horizon. 

“You seemed worried about spending the night.” Poe shrugged, picking his way around the rocky path. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to walk alone on this path in the dark. I’d be afraid of tripping and smashing in my face.” He pretended to trip on a root, demonstratively, and Rachel caught his arm, half-shrieking in laughter.

Poe laughed, the swooping in his stomach not due to gravity in the slightest -- at least, not the normal kind of gravity. Rachel didn’t release his arm until they were clear of the tangled roots in the path, and then took a hearty step away from him. He pretended his side didn’t feel colder without her near. 

“You certainly wouldn’t want to smash that face,” Rachel said serenely, “It would be a shame.”

Poe nearly tripped in earnest this time - was that - did she - _no, he was_ -

His mouth caught up to reality faster than his heart could. “It’s my money maker,” he said agreeably, waggling his eyebrows at Rachel and making her hide a smile behind a thin hand. “Without it, I’d be left with only my personality to speak for me, and Christ on the cross, that wouldn’t go well.”

She giggled again, more of a snorting sound, and then clapped her hand closer to her mouth as though in shock. 

Poe’s mouth flipped into a smile at the sound, and he ducked his head, something true and deep and real burning in his gut. “You have a real nice laugh, Rachel.”

“Oh, hush.” She smoothed her hands along the front of her skirt nervously. “It’s horrible. Ugly, even, like a little pig-”

“You sound happy,” Poe said, unable to hear her mock herself a second longer. “How can someone’s happiness - coming from joy, and not anywhere mean - ever be ugly?”

Rachel was quiet, and in the growing, indigo-blue-softness of the night, he could only just make out her features. The elegant line of her neck, the strength of her shoulders, the sharp line of her jaw, the shadow of eyelashes against her freckled cheek -

But he couldn’t see her freckles in the approaching night - Poe found himself surprised that he could remember each one’s location all the same.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said after a long moment. 

They were nearing the last turn for the cottage now, and Poe found himself wishing that the path between Hope Cottage and the Erso-Andor house had been at least fifteen times as long. It still wouldn’t have been enough time, but it would have been _more_ time. He wanted more time, here in the sleepy thrall of an early summer’s night, the day’s heat lifting off their shoulders, a burden unknown until the sigh of relief.

“You have a very unique way of looking at things, Poe Dameron,” Rachel said, as he pushed the side gate open and gestured for her to walk in first. Above them, the first stars of the evening poked through the dark blue, and the moon hung on the horizon having finally lifted herself free of her daily constraint.

“Unique can be good and bad,” Poe pointed out, his mouth strangely dry for how clammy his palms were.

The lights in the cottage were on, particularly in the front of the house where the sitting room was. A window had been propped open, and the sounds of an album wafted out from the house, born on the gentle breeze and wrapping around them as they came to a stop to look at each other.

Half-covered in moonlight, half-illuminated by the lamplight, Rachel Solo looked like Artemis herself, beautiful and untouchable.

“I find your perspective … refreshing,” Rachel said, her voice low, near the volume of intimacy, and Poe leaned in, found himself only able to lean in, so he could listen better. “Although I suppose I’m not the only one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a writer.” Rachel ducked her head again, and Poe thought deliriously that she wore the stars like a crown against the darkness of her braid. “People pay to hear your thoughts.”

“I suppose that’s right.”

“And, it’s not like anyone’s lining up to hear what the rest of us have to say.” She laughed, a huff of noise, and slid her thumb and index finger along a pleat in her skirt, worrying at it. “Especially not what I have to say.”

“I’d line up.” Poe didn’t blink when she looked up in surprise. “To hear what you have to say. I’d line up in a heartbeat.”

“What if it’s not very interesting?” Her lips twitched again, but in a dangerous direction; her eyes flitted to the moon, her face turning to take in the soft, silver orb, and a strand of hair fell along her jaw. Poe’s fingers itched to push it back in place.

He refused to scratch at that itch.

Not without her looking. Not without her permission. Something fragile was built up around him, and it was as though Poe could see it, diaphanous and trembling - it would survive only if he let it, if he didn’t crush it in his urgency to know everything about Rachel Solo - _Kenobi_? - if he let it blossom into something heartier. 

So, he only spoke, and spoke softly.

“I don’t believe that it could be.” She glanced at him now, and it was like her eyes had drank up the moonlight, shining softly back at him through the now undeniable darkness. “Uninteresting, that is. I’d think any of your thoughts were a thousand times as interesting as most folks’.”

Neither spoke for a moment, only looked at each other with the darkness and the breeze between them - the song shifted inside, weaving around them differently now, and it was Poe’s turn to duck his head.

“What is it?” Rachel asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

“I like this song,” Poe half-grinned at her, sheepish. “Used to love dancing to it back home.”

“You should go inside and dance then.” It wasn’t a dismissal -- oddly enough, Poe could tell in that moment. Any other moment he’d read it like that, but something in her voice was wistful.

“I can dance fine out here.” He held his hand out. “If I had the right partner.”

“I don’t -” Rachel laughed, her gaze dodging to the window, but no one was looking at them. “Even though I’m no good?”

“I thought we agreed that was hogwash?” Poe took a step closer, his hips already swaying. “Here, you dance with me, and I’ll sing, and we’ll both make a fool of ourselves.”

Rachel took his hand, and he drew her in. Their hands clasped near their shoulders, and one of his hands went to her waist, one of hers on his shoulder after some guidance; Poe kept a healthy distance between their hips as they swayed back and forth under the dazzling starlight. 

And inside, the Andrews Sisters sang:

_I can see, no matter how near you'll be_

_You'll never belong to me_

_But I can dream, can't I?_

Poe took a half-step backwards, swinging Rey around slightly, and they laughed as they lost the rhythm for a moment. Quieting again, Poe began to sing the refrain, and Rey’s lips, still softened into a smile, parted slightly as she looked him in the eyes, uninterrupted and overwhelming.

“ _I'm aware my heart is a sad affair. There's much disillusion there,_ ” he sang softly, his thumb twitching a subconscious circle into her waist, the touch seeming to burn him through her layers. It was like holding a star, he thought wildly, his heart loose and jumping in his chest. He was burning alive, holding a star.

“ _But I can dream - can’t I_?” He smiled at Rachel, who ducked her head - Poe didn’t stop moving his feet as she lowered her head further and rested it on his shoulder, her nose turned in towards his collar; he felt each breath wash across his chest as surely as the waves had struck the shore that golden, glorious afternoon.

 _“Can I adore you,”_ he fought the urge to smooth his hand along her hip to her back, to a more intimate embrace - fought it because he didn’t have permission to hold her so tenderly, the way a lover would. _“-although we are oceans apart? I can’t make you open your heart…”_ Poe must have imagined how her hand squeezed his shoulder slightly. _“But I can dream … can’t I?”_

The refrain repeated, and they swayed in a lazy circle, feet not knocking against each other, Poe’s voice not wavering even though his heart had taken up full residence in his throat.

As the last chord hovered in the air, and the sound of Jannah, Finn, and Rose broke out talking once more in the sitting room, Poe and Rachel stayed locked together, still slightly swaying as Poe hummed softly to the tune of the song that had been playing. 

There came a louder crash from inside the house, clearly one of the other guests knocking something over based on the shouts of laughter and accusations that followed, but it was enough to startle Rey out of his arms. She froze though, her eyes locked on Poe’s, and a thousand silent words passed between them in that infinite moment - Poe only wished he could translate what she said. 

Her breath staggered in, slightly, through her parted lips, and Poe’s eyes flickered down to the bow of her mouth, that inexorable, damned gravity he always felt in her presence intensifying shockingly. 

“Poe, I-” She whispered, her eyes darting back and forth between his eyes, and his mouth - or was he only wishing that - 

“Yes?” He asked, just as quietly.

“I - I need to go to bed.” Rachel blinked, and he did too, breaking the spell effectively.

“Of course.” He let go of her without further question, and they stepped away from each other. Rachel hovered for a moment, twisting her hands together, and Poe swallowed back a hundred reasons why she should stay outside a little longer, in this private bubble that had given him such powerful happiness in such a small amount of time.

“Goodnight, Rachel,” Poe said instead, giving her a half-smile when her dark eyes turned to him.

“Goodnight, Poe.” And with that, she was gone, up the steps and slipping into the side door, gone from his sight.

Poe stood for a long time out in the yard, his head tilted back to the galaxy wheeling overhead, wondering if any of the constellations had wisdom to offer him. 

When no answer came, Poe let out a long breath and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING.  
> This week's letters might outdo last week's for angst ... we'll see though!! I'd still love to hear your theories and anything you're thinking about this story. Your comments have been so encouraging and I can't thank you enough!
> 
>   
> [Here's the song Poe and Rey danced to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owG-NeMPj3k) if you wanna go and swoon at 50s Poe singing this to Rey.


	8. Letters and Notes and Novels: 1949, 1951, 1953

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from novel by P. Dameron, 1953, translated back from the French edition
> 
> Medical notes from the office of Doctor C. Andor, 1949
> 
> Personal letter from the desk of J. Erso-Andor, 1949
> 
> Personal letters from Ben C. Solo, 1949
> 
> Personal letter from Poe Dameron, 1951

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO
> 
> This chapter reveals more of the abusive history of Rey's marriage, so please check the warnings! It also contains an excerpt from Poe's novel (which has not yet been published at the time of this story)
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  Heavy angst throughout
> 
> Intense Domestic Violence (referenced in Cassian's note)  
> Strangulation / choking 
> 
> Emotional/verbal abuse (in Ben's letter) questioning Rey's ability/personality/heavy cruelty  
> References (mocking) to past abuse (in Ben's letter) with gaslighting/suggesting abuse was her fault

* * *

(Excerpt, _Guerre Parmi les Étoiles_ \- French ed. 1953)

_The people of Dieppe have been here for centuries. Millennia. It’s a seemingly peaceful town on the coast of northern France, overlooking the English channel. If you walk down the streets of cobbled stone, you can sometimes hear shouts from the men working on boats, down by the water, the laughter of children playing among the houses, the songs of women raising children and fighting their own private battles, marching on in a world that seems to have forgotten that they too made good soldiers._

_The River Scie winds along the town to the west, a lazy river made of light at a certain time of day when the sun lowers, as exhausted as the town once was. The River Arques is less shy, flowing straight through Dieppe and ending in a harbor where many work. It was here I fought one of my first battles of the war - how humbling it was to realize how much longer the people of France had been fighting against such a horrific evil._

_Hope spread thin in those days, as rationed as the bread the people ate across the water - a sheen of hope trembled over every paled face I saw when meeting with local resistance fighters. It shivered like sweat on their brow, brighter than any sunlight, and more grounding than any exercise the US military could have given us. In 1951, Dieppe looks and sounds so much different than it did in 1942 - but its people have yet to lose that sheen._

_Exhaustion trembles through us all, it seems. We are humbled by the earth’s ability to move on, while we still stand shocked and bowed, broken, bloody, at the foot of so much suffering. It’s frightening in a way, to be forgotten by the universe, a cosmos that spins regardless of what we’ve done to each other. To be surrounded by beauty, a world learning to heal around the artillery shell wounds scarred into rock and stone and earth - to be surrounded by healing, a world staggering on without son and brother and father and sister and mother. It was a daughter of France who saved us in those days, showing the way to Newhaven, aptly named for the refuge it offered us after the world tilted on its side and forced us onward. I traveled to the farm she lived in, hoping to find her and thank her in still-broken French for all the help she gave us. To try and repay her a little for the lives she’d saved._

_The farm was gone. A hint of a scar among tangled grass. Nature moving on, one more time._

_We were so sure of ourselves that day, so sure that we’d push back the Germans and give the Nazis what for. Boys went into that fight tousling like schoolchildren. Bragging. Laughing._

_I can still hear them laughing on the banks of the Arques, which flows ever onward, sparkling in the midday spring sun, uncaring for the pollution we have poured into its waters, and into the world around it._

* * *

(Medical Records, R. K[illegible], May 15, 1949)

Patient: RK

Sex: F

Birth date: 11/11/25

BP: 88/61

HR: 115

Maj. Complaint: bruising of trachea, concern for permanent damage

Notes: Patient presents with multiple bruises along throat and neck - soft tissue damage discovered upon closer examination, as well as some strain to muscle. Red, inflamed skin visible between bruises. Petechiae in the eyes, skin of neck, lower face. Consistent with strangulation. 

Addt’l notes: Scratches on neck - self-inflicted. Consistent with self-defense against potential attacker. Bruising around eyes - source uncl.

Patient does not respond to questions on the attacker, existence/id/etc. Patient does not respond to ?s besides pain (ranked: moderate to severe) and est. time of inj.(est: 1730). Patient refused further examination, but demonstrated extr. fatigue/difficulty walking.

Recommendations: ice for bruising. Warm water, small amt.s every 15 min.s. Rest at office. Not to return home until bruises are clear.

—C. Andor

* * *

(Letter, May 20, 1949)

_Red Five,_

_Starling needs you. Please, please come home. Being off among the stars was dreamy and oh-so-romantic when we were twenty and silly and young. But we are old now, Red Five. Old and tired and now the new birds need us. Starling needs you. Once upon a time, you cared about Uncle and the things he taught us. Uncle isn’t here anymore - and neither is my father, sadly, or yours, thankfully - and there isn’t anyone left that our starling might listen to. I’d like to be proud and say she listens to her Aunt Stardust once in a while, but we know little birds don’t like to listen all the time, and I have gone half-mad trying to talk reason to her. But it’s_ _you_ _, RF. She loves you, and you were once her favorite teacher._

_If she doesn’t listen to one of these old birds soon, I’m afraid she won’t make it ‘til winter. It’s not a good nest she’s found for herself, RF. She needs to fly away but the skies are treacherous and so many beasties are out that love to feast on little birds. She needs to fly. And you’re the best flyer we know._

_Come home. Now._

_Stardust._

_P.S. That’s not a request, you absolute wanker._

* * *

(Letter, August 1949, undated)

_Rachel,_

_I’d like to believe that the house will be in order when I return from my business in London. The last time I returned home from such a trip, the guests had been given free range of the entire property - remember that man who had sat on the sofa in my private study and ruined it with his muddy boots? I like to think you haven’t forgotten how upset I was to discover someone had been in_ _my_ _study, my only retreat from this busy, awful world where I have so little chances at respite. And I’m sure you have not forgotten how upset I was to discover the mud destroying my property. Perhaps you might need a reminder, were I to come home and find things in such a disarray._

_But perhaps a reminder won’t be necessary. You have shown promise of pleasing me in the past, my dearest Rachel, it can’t be denied. I surely did not marry you for a pretty face. You are clever, at times, and strong-headed, which can have its benefits as well as its annoyances. Perhaps if you use your sharpest set of skills and merely harass or nag them into submission, as you have done to me on such a frequent occasion, and then they will be behaving in an orderly manner when I return from the office of my solicitor._

_This letter should arrive three to four days before myself. I look forward to the warmest welcome you can manage, and hold in my heart the futile hope that perhaps you will be waiting with what you have so long refused me._

_Your husband,_

_Benjamin_

* * *

(Letter, June 14 1951)

_Rachel,_

_Writing your name still makes me smile. Rachel, meaning ewe or one with purity. Personally, I’ve never held much stock in purity. Pure means untouched, and perfect, and the world isn’t quite built for those qualities, now is it? What an odd notion, that things are better when they’re pure and perfect. When do we lose that, after all? When do we become hurt enough by the world that it no longer considers us pure? And how,_ _how_ _can we be measured by the world that’s hurt us and be deemed no longer good enough to inhabit it - some scars happen early, after all, and it isn’t us who does the asking, who wants to be scarred in the first place._

_But I’m digressing, and wildly, Rachel. I guess your name makes a lot more sense to me when I think about it, and I have thought about ~~you~~ it. Maybe it’s a different kind of purity. A holier one than perfection. A purity that I’ve started to feel at Hope Cottage, among you and the others, a sort of re-learning of the world, and how to walk through it without getting hurt. Without hurting it. The purity of rain sliding off leaves, or the purity of Henrietta warbling along in the lawn. The purity of Finn sitting with an old soldier who’s too tired to keep going. The purity of Jannah making Rose laugh on her worst day of the year. The purity of your smile. _

_Don’t think I haven’t noticed the pain you’re hiding - because I have. And I know it’s an imposition for me to even point it out. I know it’s impolite and out of line and you have every right to raise your voice at me or throw me out on my rear. But, Rachel, I want you to know: your smile isn’t any less beautiful, or any less_ _pure_ _for whatever it is you’re fighting. Whatever it is that’s made you afraid to smile. It feels warmer than sunshine when you smile, softer than a child’s laughter, sweeter than a stick of candy on the tongue. Rachel, one with purity. It makes sense, see? Because I haven’t felt close to normal in years, and I come to this place, and there you are. Softening the world around you and making it better, with a smile, with a dance, with a word._

_And I think that’s a much more important kind of purity, don’t you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Poe Dameron_

_P.S. If you were asking a question after our dance in the moonlight yesterday, the answer is -_

_Yes, I did._

_And, if you were wondering:_

_I can wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading<3
> 
> I definitely cried writing this chapter, which is odd because I don't think it's much much angstier than stuff I sometimes write, and I've definitely written angstier??
> 
> Oh well! Glad I was able to sit and write this today (my borfday) and I really would love to hear what you have to say about it, and any thoughts/suggestions/theories/and threats for Benjamin Solo you might have.
> 
> Also for anyone who might need it: https://www.thehotline.org/2020/03/13/staying-safe-during-covid-19/ heres some information on staying safe during the COVID19 pandemic. This is a time when isolation and social distancing can mean disastrous consequences for domestic violence victims. You can also call 1-800-799-7233 and if it’s unsafe to talk, you can chat by texting LOVEIS to 22522.
> 
> I hope you’re all well 💞


	9. The Last Days of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up (in every way) at Hope Cottage in the days before the solstice; and, Poe and Rey have a number of revealing conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!
> 
> Here, certain pieces of clues from the letters will start falling into place. 
> 
> There are some **warnings** :  
> References to drinking/people being drunk  
> References to past character death (Ben)  
> Poe smokes a cigarette (he was a WWII soldier - I am NOT condoning smoking, but he ... probably would have. He also admits he doesn't like it)  
> Anxiety/depression feelings and thoughts and statements from Poe and Rey both.
> 
> _Notes_  
>  Chapter starts in Rey's POV  
> There's gonna be some Y E A R N I N G and some angst and .... someone might be shirtless idk

It was four days before the solstice, and the weather had grown to be unbearable at times. After such a cool and rainy spring, the heat trickling across the coast now was proving to be aggravating.

Rey wiped her hand across her brow after setting down a heavy bag of feed. The chickens clucked, also aggravated it would seem, in their coop, eyeing the sack with great interest. She pulled a knife from the pocket of her pants and ripped the top open, grabbing a handful and tossing it to the beasts, who squawked excitedly and dove for the food, smacking and pecking at each other to get their way.

“Why is that one missing feathers?” 

She turned, half-smiling at Rose. There weren’t many in this world who could walk up behind her and speak unbidden without frightening her, but it would appear that Rose was one of them. “They peck at each other when they want something, or to show another chicken who’s in charge.”

The largest red hen nipped at a smaller brown chicken in demonstration.

“Vicious,” Jannah noted, grinning over at them from where she was taking the air on a wrought iron bench that had come from her Uncle’s house. “Sit down for a second, Rachel, rest your feet.”

“I don’t know-”

“-Oh, yes, we can talk as girls!” Rose grabbed her hand and tugged her over to sit next to Jannah; she settled herself happily on the smaller singular seat next to the bench. “How are you today, Rachel?”

“I-” Rey blinked and looked out towards the property; she had a clear line of sight of the barn - the door of which still needed re-hanging - and the cow pasture, as well as the garden of vegetables and herbs that she kept as a personal joy for herself. Even in  _ those  _ days, she had refused to give it up, and had turned from tending flowers and exotic plants to useful ones so that he couldn’t tell her she couldn’t have it. 

This was hers, no matter what had happened and what awful things had happened here, and what awfulness was still attached to it. Hope Cottage was hers, damnit, and she couldn’t leave it, for better or worse.

“I’m well, I suppose,” she said, hoping Jannah and Rose hadn’t noticed her mind drifting. “Content.”

“Content is a great thing to be,” Jannah said, offering her a smile and slinging her arm over the back of the seat. She kicked her feet out in front of her and tilted her head back to watch the clouds. “What a beautiful view.”

“Oh, my, I guess it is,” Rose giggled, and Jannah didn’t look - but Rey did.

And she put a hand to her throat immediately.

Poe Dameron had come around the side of the barn, jogging slightly - his muscles pulled taut and released, his skin golden-tan and gleaming with sweat - and bare. 

He wasn’t wearing a  _ shirt.  _

Rey swallowed, wondering where she’d put the pitcher of water. 

“Yes, a very nice view indeed,” Rose continued, her voice teasing. Rey blinked and looked down at her lap, forcing herself to fold her hands together.

She peaked up from underneath her eyelashes and watched, her throat and mouth absolutely parched, as Poe stretched backwards and then forwards, and then side to side.

“Right, I think the captain went for a run with-” Jannah looked over at last and then smirked, nudging Rose with her foot. “- oh yes, there he is.”

Finn came into view, and Rey blinked twice before definitely making herself stare at her hands. He was  _ also  _ shirtless, and now there were two, very handsome, very shirtless men standing on her property, looking carefree and laughing boisterously. 

“Nothing more to say, Rosie?” Jannah teased.

“Oh, hush.” Rose leaned over and poked Jannah in the knee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Solo!” Finn shouted. “Rose! Jannah!” 

“Good morning!” Jannah called back, waving merrily. “Go on Rose, say good morning.”

“Shhh!” Rose blushed and flapped a hand at Jannah. “It’s easier for you, when-” She stopped talking suddenly, and Rey glanced up one last time.

Poe was rubbing the back of his neck, listening to something Finn was saying; he caught Rey looking at him and she was about to look away, mortified, when he offered her a small smile and waved at her, a minute gesture, hand at his shoulder. Rey blushed and waved back before dropping her hand back to her lap.

_ I was a married woman once,  _ she told herself sternly,  _ I have seen men shirtless, I just never thought about  _ Poe  _ shirtless before. _

Although, the more she thought about it, the more she had to admit that perhaps she had purposefully stopped her mind from wandering in that precise direction before. Her face was burning by this point, and she was saved by Jannah standing and saying, “Let’s go for a walk into town, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s.” Rose stood, and Rey did as well, brushing off some dirt from her pants.

“I should change before we go.” 

“Why?”

“Because we’ll be in town, and someone might see me wearing-” Rey gestured at her clothing and Rose lifted an eyebrow, confused, before pointing to her own pants. 

“You’re in good company. Unless you feel like changing?”

“No, I suppose not.” That was all the signal Rose and Jannah needed; each of them linked arms with Rey and they walked off towards town in high spirits.

And if Rey turned around before the barn faded from sight, to see Poe Dameron one last time, neither Jannah nor Rose teased her for it.

* * *

Upon their return, Rey heard some shouting from the back of the house.

“What on earth is-” She walked towards the sound, and Rose grabbed her hand.

“No, wait, let’s go inside a moment-”

“If Poe and Finn are fighting with each other or someone else, we should try and intervene,” Rey said firmly, her heart pounding at the thought of getting in the middle of a screaming match (or worse). But, she held her head up and marched back despite both Rose and Jannah uttering their protests.

She was surprised by what she found:

The old barn door, abandoned towards the line of trees, and a makeshift workstation, with tools and lumber cluttered around.

Poe and Finn were guiding a new door back into place, talking very quickly at one another - the shouting had clearly been the men trying to out-advise each other. Rey found herself relaxing immediately, and walked up to them, hands on her hips.

“What are you two doing?”

The door dropped on Poe’s side; he looked at her startled, his cheeks and (still) bare chest flushed from exertion. Finn only grinned at her cheekily. “Fixing your door, Rachel Solo. Thought that’d be obvious.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Poe added, and grunted, when Finn shoved the door slightly towards him; he hefted it back up, and Rey studiously avoided staring at the play of muscles in his arms and side, or at the numerous scars that littered his flesh. “Knew you’ve been worrying over it-”

“Well, you didn’t have to go through all this fuss,” Rey began, but Jannah looped her arm through hers and pulled her away.

“They wanted to do something nice for you, is all.” She guided Rey towards the house. “And they insisted on it being a surprise.”

_ That explained Jannah’s suggestion that they walk to town.  _

“Call us when you’re done!” Rose said, waving merrily.

When they did come back in, an hour later, sweaty-faced and grinning, Rey had prepared some afternoon tea with the help of Jannah and Rose. After Finn and Poe washed up a bit and pulled on clean shirts (Rey tried not to stare at the muscles of Poe’s back as he walked away; tried, and failed miserably, something she chastised herself for and blamed the  _ abominable  _ weather, and she also found herself distracted further by the large scar running over his shoulder), they all sat down around the table. Rey was settled across from Poe, who ducked his head and laughed shyly when she thanked them earnestly for their work.

“Wasn’t anything,” he assured her. “Happy to do it.”

“We’ll take these sandwiches as payment,” Finn said.

“Are you sure? I could … I could deduct from your payment this week,” Rey offered even though her stomach churned at the idea of the loss of money. She needed every shilling she could scrape together, but-

“We won’t hear of it.” Finn shook his head and patted her hand with a kind smile. “We’ve been needing to do something to clear our heads.”

“It was good exercise, wasn’t it, Poe?” Rose asked, shooting Rey a look that wasn’t near sneaky enough. 

Rey frowned at her, mildly panicked that Poe would catch Rose’s look.

“It was,” he said, not looking up from his plate except to give Rey a small smile. “And like Finn said, it was good of us to clear our heads.”

And later, as they were clearing the table from their small meal, Rey was on duty placing the plates back in their appropriate place after Rose washed them and Poe dried them. Finn and Jannah were elsewhere for the moment, and one of them called out to Rose from behind the house.

This, of course, left Poe and Rey alone inside. She tried not to imagine all the ways this was both good and bad, and stayed at her work, Poe passing her plates in companionable silence. 

There was one shelf at the top of the cabinet that always gave her trouble; as she eased a cup back into place (trying not to hear  _ his  _ excuses from years ago for setting the shelving up so high because he was  _ more than happy to reach things for her, Rachel, why do you care where I hang the shelves _ ), her hand slipped and she fell back a bit, her stomach plummeting from the unexpected movement.

Poe moved quickly to help, and she felt his solid presence behind her as she gripped the counter, trying to regain her balance.

“Whoa,” he murmured as she rocked back onto her heels, his hand hovering at the small of her back. "Don't want you to fall."

"I suppose not." Looking over her shoulder at him, but unable to meet his eyes, Rey found herself studying the curve of his jaw, the flash of stubble over the sharp edge. 

The kitchen grew warmer. She turned and took a saucer from Poe’s large, calloused hands, their index fingers brushing as she collected the dainty plate from him. Something like static rushed up her arm, and the air seemed more dense than before. She felt Poe’s eyes on her face, and she was unable to meet his gaze.

Rey cleared her throat, stepping away from the shadow of Poe's touch; she'd have to open a window if the afternoon became any hotter. 

“Thank you for all your help today, Poe,” she said, telling herself her voice didn’t sound any more strained than normal as she took the final plate from him.

“Of course,” he said softly when her back was to him once more, and his eyes were still on her. She felt it, a lingering brush of contact over her senses; oddly, it didn’t feel like an imposition. “I don’t mind helping you, Rachel. Anything you need, I’d want to help you.”

On tiptoe, she fit the final plate in place, and settled back on her feet, brushing her hands together for no reason at all besides she didn’t know what else to do with them.

“It’s Rey,” she spoke suddenly, the words leaving her in a rush. When he didn’t respond she turned and said, “you can call me-”

He was gone.

Blinking away the lull that had washed over her in his presence, Rey set to work preparing the dough for next morning’s bread, stopping only once to fan herself with her apron.

* * *

“Rachel?” Poe crossed the front yard to where she stood watching the sky, her dress blowing about her ankles in the light breeze that had finally kicked up off the water. “May I have a moment?”

“Yes, of course.” She gave him a smile that seemed nervous. “Sorry you caught me in such a stupor.”

“What do you mean?” Poe frowned, fully not catching her meaning. “I interrupted you.”

“From … daydreaming. Wasting time.” Her next smile was a half-one, and self-deprecating. “I apologize.”

“Never apologize for your dreams to me, ma’am,” Poe said, reaching into his pocket. “I’d be happy to hear any of them, if you’d share.”

“Really?” She huffed a small laugh and cast her eyes skyward again. “I was imagining what flying might feel like.”

“I have an answer to that,” Poe said, “and if you’d like, I’d only tell you the pretty stories.”

“The pretty stories?” That caught her interest. 

“The pretty ones - where you’re up on top of the clouds and all you can see from each edge of the world is white - birds don’t even fly that high, and if you’re flying at night, you can see the stars so much closer, clearer.”

Rachel looked back up at the clouds as he spoke, and her smile was tragically happy. Like it didn’t cost her anything - and Poe wondered when it was he noticed that her smiles cost her something.

“But - but how did it  _ feel _ ?” Rachel asked at last, her cheeks slightly flushed as she took her eyes from the sky, as though she’d been walking among the clouds herself.

“Terrifying,” Poe admitted. “Sometimes. But when it was good, it felt - free. Like gravity couldn’t pin me down, like I could see how I was part of everything, and how I could move through life with nothing holding me down.”

“Oh.” Rachel’s eyes were clouded now. “I can’t imagine.”

“Wish you could head up there yourself and see it.” Poe shook his head and felt regret. “I’d offer to take you, but. Uncle Sam says I’m in no shape to fly anymore.”

Rachel didn’t push him for more information, which he appreciated, and nor did she offer him a knowing, sympathetic look, which he would have hated - but, he realized he wouldn’t mind in the least explaining it to her. He wouldn’t mind opening the parts of his life up to her so she could poke around with her slender, delicate finger, scavenging for his pain; Poe had a feeling Rachel wouldn’t hurt anything she touched as she went through his past. He wanted her to know. He wanted to tell her.

But, that wasn’t why he was here:

“I - uhm, I found this.” He dug through his pocket and came up with the strange necklace with shells and stone twisted through it. Rachel stared at it in his hand. “In the library, behind the desk. It was - I know it’s not as fancy as diamonds.” He thought back to the necklace he’d told her of, the necklace that, for all he knew, was still in Ben Solo’s desk (because Rachel never went into Ben’s study, something he knew for sure now). “But it looked loved. So.”

“You fixed it,” Rachel breathed, holding a hand out. “You really fixed it-”

“I did.” Poe shuffled his feet after he handed it over. “Like I said, it looked - it looked important, important enough to keep around all this time-”  _ Because maybe she hadn’t been in her husband’s study since he died, and that made sense at the same time it hurt Poe to think _ , “-and I hope it’s okay, but I - restrung it, and fixed the clasp, and-”

And he needed something to do when his hands were shaking, but he didn’t say that out loud.

In all this time, Rachel hadn’t said a word, but she stared at the necklace, her mouth twisted up like she was holding back tears. When he reached a break in his rambling, she looked up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Can I - do you want to put it on?” Poe asked, a little helpless when her eyes were turned on him. She nodded, and handed the necklace back to him, gathering up her pinned-back hair and letting him walk behind her. Her small face turned towards him slightly as he brought the necklace over her head - she shivered slightly when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, and Poe found the shiver echoing through him - and he begged his fingers to comply and not shake so much as he fit the clasp back together.

“Good as new,” he said quietly. 

Rachel stood for a moment, her hand on the odd necklace before she turned to him with a tearful, but happy smile. “Thank you,” she said again, and then, “I have to - excuse me.” She walked off, clearly without direction, away from the cottage, and Poe rubbed his neck, wondering how in the hell he was going to get over this infatuation (that was dangerously bordering on  _ not  _ infatuation), for a long while.

* * *

_ Muran, dead - _

_ Screaming - fire around him - pain, erupting in a plume of heat across his back - he screamed and screamed for Muran, but he didn’t open his eyes - _

Poe sat bolt upright, gasping and grabbing at his shoulder; it wasn’t mangled and bloody, but scarred and cool to the touch. Wincing, remembering how Rachel had seen him without a shirt the other day - his self-consciousness in that moment must be carrying over to his dreams and making him anxious - Poe tried to push the thoughts away. 

When breathing steadily did nothing to calm his erratic heart, Poe swung his legs out of bed, his knee twinging again; he hobbled to the door, grabbing a shirt and jacket on the way, and breathed in and out a few times before crossing the study and heading towards the front door, shuffling some cigarrettes out of his jacket pocket on the way.

He fumbled with the lighter, his hands trembling, and eventually got the cigarette lit and brought it to his mouth; tilting his head back, Poe blew out a puff of smoke, hating the acrid taste of it in his mouth, but it still slowing his heart rate somewhat and steadying his hands.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Poe listened to the sound of nighttime over Hope Cottage, the chirp of crickets and the soft sound of water running nearby, the wind in the trees, and -

Someone breathing.

Poe glanced over and saw Rachel sitting on one of two chairs, a shawl draped around her shoulders while she stared out into the darkness.

Worried she hadn’t seen him and not wanting to startle her, Poe turned to head back inside, when she called out to him.

“You can’t sleep either.”

Not a question.

“Not tonight,” he answered.

“Not ever, I think,” Rachel countered, her eyes dangerously dark in the night. She smiled at him though, and gestured to the empty chair. “Sit, if you’d like.”

Poe sank into the seat, grateful she hadn’t cursed at him for startling her in her privacy.

He took another drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly. “I hate smoking,” he admitted. “But, it’s the only thing that stops my hands shaking, sometimes.” Muran smoked, he didn’t say. Muran gave him his lighter before that last flight. It was sitting in his pocket right then.

“Not a stiff drink?” Her voice was oddly cold, and Poe frowned at her thoughtfully.

“No. I hate drinking more than I hate smoking, and ‘least smoking doesn’t change who I am.”

“Drinking does?” Rachel tilted her head towards him, and even in the dim light - it was a new moon that night - he could see the curiosity in her expression.

“I think drinking changes all of us, a little,” Poe pointed out. “Well. Makes it easier for us to say cruel things. Or silly things. Or make confessions that aren’t ready to be made.” He swallowed at the truth of the last one and flicked some ash from his cigarette. “I can’t control my mouth when I drink, is all. Or my mind.”

“Do you get into fights when you’re drunk?” Again, Rachel’s voice was odd, almost as though she weren’t addressing him.

“Never,” Poe laughed, “I've gotten into fights with people who really deserved it when I'm sober though, but not over something petty ever. No, drinking makes it harder for me to hide all the things that have gone wrong in my life. Makes it harder for me to move past them. Makes it easy to dwell in them. And I don’t want to do that.”

“I think others could learn from your example,” Rachel said softly. After a long moment, where Poe’s thoughts jumbled together unpleasantly, the way they always did after a nightmare of that day, she said something that set his teeth on edge. 

“My husband wouldn’t let me smoke.”

She sounded sad. But not the kind of sad born from missing someone - an angry sort of sad that made Poe’s skin crawl to hear her talk so bitterly.  _ Let you?  _ He wondered. How could a man  _ let  _ his adult wife -

“Here.” He offered her the cigarette. “If you’d like.”

Rachel took it and studied it for a long time; he thought she’d hand it back to him, but instead she brought it to her lips and took a drag. She immediately coughed. “Oh, that’s  _ foul. _ ”

“It really is,” Poe agreed, taking it back from her. He ground it out immediately, to avoid further irritating her lungs. “Completely disgusting.”

Rachel coughed again. “The worst.”

“So terrible,” Poe conceded, “Awful.”

“But,” Rachel tilted her head back and offered him a wry smile that he could see fully now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark. “I tried it.”

“You sure as hell did.”

She laughed then, a loud, sharp, bright thing that rang through the night. “I’ve never heard you curse!”

“Well, I do,” Poe said cheerfully, his mood lifted by her spirits. “All the damn time.”

Her next laugh was more of a giggle, but he took that as happily as the first.

Again, she fell silent, and they sat together, listening to the night quietly. Poe stamped out one last ember of the cigarette, thinking to himself that he’d destroy his pack as soon as he got a chance, when Rachel caught him off-guard.

“You can ask about him.” She sounded tense. “No one ever does. They think I can’t handle it.”

Poe blinked, surprised at her tone and her suggestion. Feeling awkward - and with a hundred questions if he were being honest - he settled for, “How long has it been, since he died?”

“You said  _ died _ .” Rachel folded her hands together and studied him through the veil of darkness between him. “Not passed away. Not moved on. Died.” She shook her head before he could apologize. “No one ever says that.” Her tone was oddly relieved. “It’s been almost two years. It happened in the autumn two years ago.”

“How did h-” Poe stopped himself, mortified for even forming the question in his mind. “I mean … never mind.” Silence again, until he managed to say, “I can’t say enough how much I admire you.”  _ That’s dangerous territory.  _ “...You’re a strong person, Rachel.”

“I think if you knew me well enough, you’d know I’m anything but.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” Poe argued gently, but Rachel didn’t push it further. She only looked back up at the stars - following their conversation earlier that day, Poe imagined her up there for a moment, her hair flowing freely among the blanket of stars, her body becoming constellations, her eyes distant galaxies.

He at last stood to leave, sensing she wanted to be alone. “Have a good rest of your night, Rachel.” Poe walked back towards the house, a thousand more words weighing heavily on him.

She stopped him as he reached the porch. 

“He drowned.”

Poe had his foot on the step, and he turned back to her, surprised. Rachel met his gaze keenly even in the dark.

“He drowned at night. He was drunk. If that’s what you wanted to ask.”

He swallowed, unsure of what to say to that - but Rachel had already turned her eyes back up to the Heavens, leaving him reeling back here on earth. 

“Goodnight, Poe.”

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UhhHHHHHhhhhhh
> 
> Letters to come on Wednesday!!
> 
> Did Rey even read Poe's last letter? Will we ever find out the full story of the night Ben died?? Will Poe take his shirt off again?
> 
> All this and more to come on PS I Know!
> 
> Thanks for reading --- I'd love to hear what you're thinking, and if there's enough P I N I N G and sexual tension yet!


	10. Documents, Telegrams, Letters: 1946, 1949 and 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Will and Testament of Benjamin Solo  
> A Letter from Solo to his solicitor  
> A telegram from Solo's solicitor to his widow  
> A letter from a concerned friend  
> A letter from Benjamin Solo  
> A letter from Poe Dameron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i'm super not a lawyer!!! 
> 
> have fun with more mysteriiiiies!
> 
> (no new warnings for this chapter!)

* * *

(Legal Document, dated August 15, 1949)

_I, Benjamin C Solo, being of full age and sound mind and memory, do make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking and annulling any and all Last Will and Testaments at any time heretofore made by me._

_ITEM I_

_I direct that all my just debts, secured and unsecured be paid as soon as reasonable after my death, provided; however, I direct that my Executor may cause any debt to be carried, renewed and refinanced for its repayment as my Executor may deem advisable taking into consideration the best interest of the beneficiaries hereunder._

_ITEM II_

_All of the rest and residue of my property, real and personal, of every kind and description and whomsoever situate, which I may own or have the right to dispose of at the time of my death, I give, devise, and bequeath in equal shares to_ Rachel Palpatine-Solo. _Should the preceding person die before me, then I give, devise, and bequeath the said property to_ Leia Organa-Solo _as substitute beneficiary._

_ITEM III_

_I direct that my Executor and beneficiaries abide by any written statement or list by me directing the disposition of tangible personal property not specifically disposed of by this Last Will and Testament. This directive is mandatory to the extent allowed by law._

_ITEM IV_

_The word “Executor” means the same as “Administrator,” “Executrix,” or “Personal Representative,” and refers to the person who is to administer my estate and carry out the terms of this Last Will and Testament I hereby name, constitute, and appoint_ Rachel Palpatine-Solo _as my Executor and direct that my Executor shall serve without bond. Should my Executor be unable or unwilling to serve or continue to serve,then I hereby name, constitute and appoint_ Luke A. Skywalker. 

_(Testator):_ _ Benjamin C. Solo _ _(Witness Initials):_ _KR AM_

* * *

(Letter, August 15, 1949)

_Armitage,_

_Enclosed is a copy of my Last Will and Testament, updated after our last conversation. While you have served me well as my solicitor these years prior, I fear interference by our common business partner in our working relationship, and will meet with you the following month to discuss the updated terms of the will as well as your employment going forward._

_Regardless of what our mutual friend says, the house goes to Rachel, and her inheritance will return to her control in the event of my untimely death - which I’m sure you don’t hope for in any way. This might seem like a burst of paranoia for me to take these legal measures, but I’m sure you understand, given who we both have worked with these past few years._

_Mitaka, the man who manages my accounts and funds, has also been notified of these changes and was witness to the signing of the will._

_I will see you in September._

_Regards,_

_BCS_

* * *

(Telegram, September 25, 1949)

RACHEL PALPATINE-SOLO-

MY CONDOLENCES FOR THE DEATH OF BENJAMIN. READING OF WILL NEXT MONDAY, 1130. R SNOKE WILL BE PRESENT AS EXECUTOR. PLEASE CONFIRM ATTENDANCE AT OFFICE IN LONDON. 

-ARMITAGE HUX

* * *

(Personal Letter, October 5, 1949)

_Little Sister,_

_I have urged Baze to write this letter for me. I regret that our travels must extend into the next week, but our hearts are with you. We are writing to our old friend, a solicitor by the name of Mothma, for advice regarding the will. You will not lose the cottage, little sister, and we will find a way to return your inheritance to you. Do not despair._

_I have faith in the universe, and in you._

_With love always, your friend,_

_Chirrut_

_\-- this is Baze. Show me this Snoke man, and I’ll take care of the rest of it. Chirrut says that it is “damning evidence” for me to put this in writing, but I do not care. Love from me too, little sister._

* * *

(December 15, 1945)

_Rachel,_

_I missed you terribly these last weeks. No one understands me like you do. We see each other plainly, don’t we, Rachel? I’m so sorry for how I shouted the last time we met; I know it startled you. I forget all too often that we both were in the war._

_I love you terribly. To the point of madness. I only wish to keep you for myself, forever. I will try to contain myself around you, my strange and wonderful creature._

_Your wretched vassal,_

_Benjamin_

* * *

(Letter, June 19, 1951)

_Rachel,_

_I’ve been writing poetry. That wouldn’t seem like such an awful thing, except I’m terrible at verse. My meter comes out all crooked, and the whole thing reeks by the time I’m done. I sit there like a chump, lying on my back in the grass and watching the trees, all of nature and its beauty around me, inspiration from all directions with the most incredible muse … and I can’t think of a single thing that rhymes with Rachel._

_I can get it pretty close. Glacial isn’t too far off the mark. But you’re anything but cold. And I certainly don’t feel cold when I’m near you. I guess I could also do angel, but I’m not sure if you’re one for blasphemy, even if I’m sure you’d wear the wings well._

_So, I won’t be handing you the scraps of rhymes I’ve been able to scrape together the last few days; I thought it might amuse you to know that I’m all tied up in knots, trying to get something down that feels right. Something that can actually capture how I feel when I’m around you. Words escape me, Rachel. They really do. And for someone making a living off his writing, well. Let’s say that writer’s block, that damnable curse that so many in the profession have stumbled over - I didn’t know the shape of it until I tried writing about you._

_You can’t contain a galaxy in a few words, after all. And no combination of words in the English language (or Spanish, either, believe me I’ve tried, I even turned to Dutch and French) could ever begin to describe the multitudes inside you._

_Yours,_

_Poe Dameron_

_P.S. I caught Henrietta mid-escape when I was lying in the grass, puzzling over difficult rhyme schemes. I think she was quite determined to make a break for it; now she won’t even make eye contact with me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading --- I wonderrr what all that was about? I'd love to hear what you think :) !!! what will happen on Sunday!


	11. A Hazy Start to Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe continues to quietly surprise Rey; an encounter on his afternoon walk surprises Poe in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings**  
>  Nothing much in this chapter, surprisingly! The usual warnings for references to war and implied references to abuse/abusive behavior
> 
> Sorry this is coming at 8/so late in the day - I actually only had one sentence of this written before I sat down this evening. Let me know if you can guess what line it was!

With the heat came the typical drowsiness - and, in Rey’s case, a headache that pounded at her temples with the ferocity of someone trying to enter a barred door.

It was there when she woke up - a not uncommon event near the start of summer as the temperatures and light changed in the sleepy little village, and Rey buried her head under her pillow for an indulgent five minutes, wishing away the ache that throbbed behind her eyes. Then, sighing because there was no one to do the chores if she would not (nor had there ever been), Rey slid out of her bed and dressed slowly before heading downstairs.

Poe Dameron was already awake and sitting in the living room, writing something in a flurry. Thinking of the letters he’d taken to leaving her at her door most mornings - there was none that morning, but Rey tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart twinge slightly with disappointment - Rey wanted to peek over his shoulder and see if there was anyone else he wrote to.

But, that would be invasive, firstly, and require energy she did not have, secondly. Besides that, it was needlessly jealous for her to imagine the scores of beautiful women, American and European alike, that Poe wrote letters to in addition to herself; especially when she had yet to read any of the letters he’d left for her beyond the one informing her of the hidden necklace some weeks prior.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to read them, frightened of how easily he seemed to look through her, and frightened of what her skittish heart was trying to tell her already. If he had done something untoward in the letters - an erotic fantasy perhaps (the thought made her blush, and her stomach twist in an not-unpleasant way), or worse, a confession of lustful infatuation - Poe had yet to ask her why she had not responded. She never wrote him a letter back, yet every other morning (and some days, she was lucky to have them multiple days in a row), the letters would show up, folded neatly with her name on the outside, in her doorway.

Rey had come to think of them as good luck charms, as silly as it sounded in her head. They certainly lifted her mood, although she had yet to read many of them; instead, she tucked them under her pillow with sprigs of lavender and thyme, and as she fell into sleep each night, she tucked her hand under her pillow and stroked her thumb against the soft creases in the letters, imagining but not quite imagining fully the delightful contents inside them.

“Good morning,” she greeted him instead, and Poe started slightly, his pen jerking across the page, before half-turning to her with a smile that made her insides flip upside down. 

No one had ever quite been able to catch her off-guard like that with a smile; Ben’s smiles were rare and fleeting - more prone to melancholy than merriness, and often made her concerned for whatever wry, cruel thought was in his mind to cause the smile. And it wasn’t as though Poe was necessarily merry; his happiness had more weight to it than that. But where Ben’s presence had felt heavy, Poe’s felt light, but never inconsequential. 

“Morning, Rachel.” He nodded respectfully at her and then, after noting the pail in her hand, looked around guiltily at the sitting room. “I’ll clear up, didn’t mean to be in your way, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to-” Rey started and then sighed. “You don’t have to call me ma’am, I’m - I’m not terribly old, you know.” She was only twenty-five, even if she felt decades older at times - and she had done the rather impolite math and calculated, based on comments he’d made, that Poe was at least ten years older than she was.

“I know.” Poe’s smile brought those now-familiar creases to the corner of his eyes - a lifetime of smiles, both easy and hardwon. “But it feels right, what with you giving me shelter and all.”

Rey had a delirious thought, suddenly, of all the ways she could give him shelter, and felt herself flush to the roots of her hair. She cleared her throat and put the back of her hand to her forehead, wishing for something to fan herself with, as she moved further into the room to start picking up. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Poe peered up at her with worry as he collected papers from the cluttered table in front of him. 

“I - yes, just a silly little headache.” She tried to appear nonchalant as she scooted around in front of him to check the fireplace. 

“It’s not silly if it’s bothering you,” Poe pointed out. 

“It’s silly because I can’t exactly do anything about it.” She continued to work, trying to pretend she didn’t feel his eyes on her while she did. “There are chores that have to be done in a timely manner, and things that won’t simply stop because I’m feeling under the weather.”

“I-”

At that moment, Finn’s voice came floating down the stairs. “Poe! Are you up yet?” 

Poe sighed and offered her an apologetic smile. “I told Finn I’d walk with him to the village this morning. He’s expecting a letter from his father.”

“Of course.” Glad that she’d be out of scrutiny, and disappointed she wouldn’t be able to listen to his pleasant voice anymore, Rey nodded at him and continued working.

It was quiet in the house with Jannah and Rose still a-bed, and Finn and Poe gone, so quiet in fact, that Rey found herself lying down on the sofa, thinking she’d rest her eyes and her feet for a few moments after she was done feeding the animals. As it was a Sunday, there was no need to make anyone breakfast as they’d take lunch together later in the day, so Rey figured a few moments’ peace wouldn’t hurt.

When she opened her eyes, the light in the room had changed, and she sat upright quickly, noting the time. Her stomach plummeted when she realized it was half-past ten: she’d fallen asleep for almost two hours.

She rushed into the kitchen, worried that she’d missed so much of the morning; looking around for the basket she used to collect the eggs from the henhouse, Rey noticed that the counter was lined with eggs, and that Poe was washing the last one at the sink, humming softly to himself.

The sunlight coming through the window illuminated the spots of salt that were flecked at his temples and in his scruff, and highlighted the line of his jaw. In that light, Poe seemed ethereal, like some Adonis come to complete simple chores in her kitchen, unaware of his beauty. Rey swallowed and stared at the eggs one last time, some impossible feeling rising as a lump in her throat.

"Why did you bring them in?" 

Poe didn’t startle this time, but only looked to where she gestured; he gave her a funny look. "Because, you were resting, and I know you’d worry about them getting ruined if they were out too long."

"But - I didn't - you didn't have to do that." Rey put a hand to her forehead, which still ached, but much less than before.

“I know.” He hummed aimlessly and turned the water off, gently brushing off the last egg. He began to gather them in an empty carton, and Rey made a small noise of frustration in her throat.

"You're a guest here, Poe, you don't have to do farmwork."

Poe’s movements remained deliberate and careful; he placed the last egg in the carton and set it near the ice box before crossing to where she stood in front of the doorway. He paused before passing her, and although there were nearly ten inches of space between him, Rey swore it was zero. 

"I don't mind doing farmwork," he said gently, and there was nothing but honesty in his warm brown eyes. Rey swallowed and tried to look past it. She found that she couldn't.

He continued, "And - I’ve said it before - but, I don't mind helpin' you, Rachel."

"Rey," She whispered to him, her ears warm. There was no doubt that he heard her this time. Poe didn't do her the indignity of raising his eyebrows, one of his common expressions of amusement or thought. "It's ... just Rey."

"Well then." He must have leaned in closer, for the temperature soared, and she imagined the breath she exhaled became the air he took in, and vise versa. "I don't mind helpin’ you.... Rey." 

A gulf of space erupted between them, an ocean breaking against their opposite shores, and Rey knew if she extended her hand, the length would be crossed.

But she would not cross it. Could not. It was a journey for a different time, departing from another harbor, and as she blinked and turned slightly away from him, Poe took her soft rejection in stride as she imagined he always did, nodding politely as he excused himself. 

Rey told herself the kitchen didn't feel a thousand times bigger and more lonely without him standing there.

* * *

They had been so close.

Poe could kick himself; he didn’t know where the idea had come from, getting so close to Rachel - _Rey_ \- without permission like that, but he did know that if he hadn’t realized how far over the line he had crossed, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her. It was inexcusable, to put his feelings on a woman who had yet to even signal she _realized_ his feelings and the scope of them.

No, it wouldn’t do at all. Poe took himself on a walk to get out of the house - not only because he was worried to face Rey after their near-collision that morning, but also because he had an itching under his skin that had started when he wrote of Muran’s death that morning; specifically, of the place he’d last seen him and how it felt to hold a person he cared so dearly about in his arms and know there was nothing he could do to keep his heart beating.

It was, regretfully, a feeling Poe knew all too well - perhaps that was the thread that seemed to connect him so closely to Rey. They had both lost people they had loved; he knew now that Ben Solo had died by drowning, a horrifying thought. He shuddered to think of the day they’d carelessly invited Rey to the beach. She no doubt avoided the water entirely, given that it had taken her husband.

Lost in his thoughts, Poe didn’t hear the steps behind him, but he did hear the voice calling out his name.

“Mr. Dameron!” A man’s voice, with an accent not unlike his fathers. “Poe Dameron-”

He turned and saw Cassian Andor walking towards him swiftly. Although he was nearly fifteen years Poe’s senior, he still walked with a purposeful stride, the lines of his face nearly nonexistent, a strange youthfulness possessing him. Poe found it odd that this man was the town doctor when everything about him - the economy of movement, the steel in his eyes, the cold tone of voice when addressing strangers - suggested a soldier.

“Doctor Andor,” Poe greeted him, nodding. “How do you do, sir?”

“Enough with the sir and the doctor.” Cassian waved a hand irately, and the two began to walk in stride when Cassian reached Poe’s place on the path. “We were both captains once, and we are equal in the ways I care about.”

Surprised that Cassian knew his rank - perhaps it had slipped out in a conversation with Rey, or with Jyn who seemed to know more than she let on about everything around her - Poe only nodded. “You served too, then?”

“I worked in intelligence, against the Germans.” Cassian’s face was oddly still when Poe looked over: it was a truth, but not the whole truth. Poe took it in stride, and considered that perhaps this was a man of secrets, and some deserved to remain untouched. “My wife did too.”

“Is that how you met?” Poe asked, curious as ever.

Cassian smiled ruefully, and Poe thought it made him look terribly handsome, and even younger. “No, I met Jyn … a number of years before that. We bumped into each other out in the field.” His body language seemed to soften when talking about his wife, and he surprised Poe further by laughing, something that made his eyes light up. “We weren’t exactly friends when we met, but we had enough … common interests.”

A different man, seemingly; a crack behind the facade. Perhaps this was the real Cassian, the one hiding in the shadows, brought out only by affection for his wife - and for Rey, if Poe was recalling their brief interaction correctly.

They passed three young women, university age if Poe guessed correctly, walking with their bicycles. They waved brightly at Poe and Cassian, as though greeting long time friends, and broke into giggles after passing them; Poe saw they were staring at both he and Cassian as they walked away.

Smiling at the carefree innocence - glad for them, really, as the last ten years had not been easy to this country or its inhabitants - Poe was quiet for a few moments. Cassian was too. 

His companion surprised him by breaking into Spanish, then.

“Do you plan on staying long in England?”

Poe blinked and switched gears as well as he could - Cassian’s Spanish was different than his own, closer to his father’s father’s accent, and the ones he encountered in southern Texas. “As long as I need to,” he answered, wondering why the town doctor would care that he planned on staying long. 

“And you’re here to write?” Cassian tilted an eyebrow at him when Poe glanced over. His gait was typically smoother than Poe’s, uninterrupted by a limp, but as they began to walk uphill, Poe noted that he bore weight differently on his left side, a lift in his shoulder as though he compensated for an old injury on the other side.

“Did Rey tell you that?” Poe surprised himself by saying her chosen nickname - and judging by the brief flash in Cassian’s expression, he was too.

“You’re writing about the war.” Cassian answered by not answering, and Poe hummed in assent. “Not an easy thing to write about.”

“No. But maybe that’s why I have to.” They stopped walking at the top of the hill, and they could see clear out to the water from this angle. Cool air rushed over them in a salt-drenched breeze, and Poe breathed deeply and continued. “The longer I let it stay just in my head, the more it feels like I’m still there.”

“Entiendo.” Cassian sighed through his nose and shook his head. His body was turned towards Poe’s now, but his head was turned towards the water, his eyes faraway. A thousand-yard stare, one Poe had seen often in his friends and fellow soldiers, often in the mirror as well. “I wish I had the gift of writing, but I find I can work out my own demons in different ways.”

“You’re a doctor,” Poe said, and Cassian lifted a shoulder in brief acknowledgment. “I wish I could do something useful like heal other people. But - I guess it makes me sound foolish, but - I’d like to help people heal through whatever I can write. So they can read it, and know they’re not alone.”

“Even if they’re not soldiers?” Cassian’s gaze was assessing as he turned away from the sunlight playing on the distant waves. “You still would like to help those who didn’t go to war?”

“You don’t need to be a soldier to feel lost in your own home,” Poe pointed out. “To feel alone in a crowd. Those aren’t only for those who’ve been through war.”

He was thinking about Jyn, who’d told him of her battle fatigue when they met - but, Poe had a feeling her own shell shock might have origins closer to his own, based on what Cassian had said about them meeting and working in the field together.

“Writing is bigger than myself. It sounds … pretentious -”

“- a little -”

“ - but, I want to … it feels sometimes, like I was born with something missing inside of myself. Something not there that I know should be there. Going to war made it worse. Writing about it, about the places around that hole, and even what that absence feels like...it makes it feel a little better.”

“What does it feel like?” Cassian asked softly. “That absence?”

“Lonely.” Poe let out a rough rush of laughter. It was his turn to study the water. “It feels lonely. Like I’m standing at this huge precipice inside of myself, shouting out against the nothingness, and the only thing that comes echoing back is my own voice. Writing makes it … tangible, that shouting. Turns nothingness into words, shares them back with myself but also with other people.” 

“Are you always so poetic?” Cassian’s voice was wry. “Or have you thought about this often?”

“Not often.” Poe half-smiled at Cassian, and found that while the doctor didn’t smile back, his gaze was less cold than it had been. “And it’s easier, in Spanish.”

“Maybe you should write in Spanish, then,” He suggested

“I do sometimes.”

“Well, for what it’s worth - I know that hole you’re talking of. And … I might deal with it in different ways, but I know what it feels like when I don’t try to do that.”

They regarded each other for a long moment before walking again, Cassian’s hands folded behind his back, his long, lean frame hunched forward slightly as they walked downhill.

It wasn’t that the walk was taking a toll on him, Poe realized when they hit the bottom of the slope. It was that he wasn’t holding himself up with the ramrod posture expected of a military man. Even the shape of his Spanish changed, grew rounder and softer, his tone gentling. He wondered at the transformation, and wondered if he deserved to witness it. 

Then again, Poe doubted Cassian Andor was the sort of man to let anything slip if he didn’t want to.

After they had walked in silence for a long time, Cassian surprised him again. “What do you know about Rey’s grandfather?’

“Kenobi?” Poe asked, confused. “I - I recognized the name when I heard it. I think because he was a famous aviator. My mother knew him. I know he was a kind man, and I know Rey loved him.”

She hadn’t said as much, but her tone of voice when briefly mentioning him had said plenty.

“Not Kenobi.” Cassian shook his head, and then, curiously, looked over his shoulder. Force of habit made Poe look too, to check their six and make sure everything was clear. 

It was.

“Palpatine.” Cassian spat the name, and Poe grimaced. 

“I know the usual things about that family,” Poe said carefully. “I figured Rey was a distant relative.”

“Try his only heir.” Cassian shook his head. “Everyone else in his life either was cut out completely or died under degrees of varying suspicion.”

“Rey-” Poe paused, fully confused. Rey, an heiress to one of the wealthiest men of the century? He’d seen her slowly measure out milk to put in her tea, had seen her cut away mold on the bread she prepared her own dinner. An heiress?

“She certainly doesn’t act … the way I’d imagine a Palpatine acting,” he said carefully because he could tell this was somehow a test.

“She wouldn’t. Rey grew up poor - and then comfortable. She lived with her grandfather, Kenobi, who as you said was a good man. Well-loved by everyone here. I knew Rey before Palpatine, before the money - before Solo.”

Cassian said Solo with equal venom to Palpatine, and it put Poe’s teeth on edge (and he thought back painfully to her voice saying  _ he wouldn’t let me _ ). Still, his curiosity wouldn’t win out over respect for Rey’s privacy, and he avoided asking for the source of that hatred. 

They came to a fork in the road, and Cassian turned his back to the road behind him to look at Poe fully. “What happened to Rey is a suffering I wouldn’t wish on anyone - and I am only telling you this because I view her as my own flesh and blood. I would have taken her in after Kenobi died, if she hadn’t run off to war first.”

Right - suddenly, Rey joining as a front-lines nurse at the age of seventeen didn’t sound so romantic. It churned his stomach to think of what she might have witnessed. “And then when she came back, she lost her husband,” Poe said, shaking his head. “I understand you perfectly, Doctor Andor, she’s been through m-”

“No.” Cassian glowered, and Poe fell silent. “You cannot, because neither of us can comprehend what she has been through.”

Poe stayed silent - part of him thought he  _ might,  _ given the loss of his mother, and then of Muran, not to mention all his brothers-in-arms who fell in the war, but another part of him wondered at Cassian’s phrasing.

“We cannot imagine her suffering, Captain Dameron, because - “

Cassian glared out towards the water this time, his jaw a solid line of steel before he turned to Poe. The man’s next words each weighed on him like individual stones. 

“Well, the soldiers we fought against - they did not also pretend to love us.”

Poe swore he could hear the rush of the waves against the shore in the horrible moment after Cassian spoke and the reality of his words came crashing in.

“Hasta luego” Cassian nodded politely and turned and walked away, his posture stiff and straight once more, and Poe was lost to his thoughts for a long time after that.

He was still quiet when he re-entered the cottage, and nearly missed the flurry of movement as Rose raced down the stairs, shouting something at Jannah, who was laughing and spinning Rey in the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Poe asked of Finn, who was leaning against a doorframe and smiling softly at the mild chaos.

“My father, Lando invited us to London for the week.” Finn laughed and nodded at the shriek of excitement from Rose who went streaking back up the stairs. “We’re all invited!”

“And, as I’ve been telling Jannah, I couldn’t  _ possibly  _ leave the cottage for a week,” Rey said with a grand patience - and Poe thought he wasn’t mistaking the sadness in her voice.

“You could, you completely could!” Jannah protested, spinning Rey to imaginary music. Rey laughed, and then patted her apron back in place, flapping a hand at Jannah as she turned to check the oven. 

“You’re welcome too, of course,” Finn said cheerfully, clapping Poe on the shoulder.

Poe watched Rey at the oven, and thought he saw her pause slightly, as though waiting to hear his answer. His heart in his throat - wondering if this were a good idea, if she perhaps would want him to go too - Poe grinned and grabbed Finn’s shoulder.

“I appreciate it, buddy, but I gotta stay here and send some pages over to my editor before he comes for my head.”

“Alright, alright.” Finn laughed and didn’t push it further. “I’m sure we’ll be invited again this summer, and you’ll have to come then. And you too, Mrs. Solo!” Finn said, louder this time, grinning at Rey’s slight eyeroll before he caught Rose’s hand on her next pass-through and followed her through the back of the house and out to the yard.

Poe walked to the kitchen as slowly as he could, watching Rey’s profile for some sort of sign that she might not want him to approach; she only offered him a small smile and continued to set the table for supper.

“Unless, of course-” her hands did pause then as he spoke, “You’d want me to go?”

“Why -” Rey looked up, cheeks pink. “Did you want to?”

“Not particularly.” Poe shrugged and put his hands in his pockets and tried not to stare at the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Tried, and failed. “But, if you wanted the quiet-”

“I don’t  _ mind  _ loud,” Rey pointed out. At that moment, their three companions went laughing and shouting behind the house. “Not - not this kind of loud, at least.” She gave a rueful smile. “I think I’d quite miss it if you all were gone.”

The pink on her face deepened to a red, and she picked up a spoon and polished it on her apron, clearly to keep her hands busy. 

“I’ll stay.” Poe felt like the ground dropped out from beneath him when she looked at him then, from under her eyelashes, earnest but not coy in her interest in his words. “I - I find that I don’t quite want to leave -”  _ You  _ almost slipped out, and he caught it just in time, “--here.”

“Well, then.” Rey set the spoon back down on the table and gently pushed it into place; her nose wrinkled slightly like it did when she was truly pleased, and she looked over at him, a pretty, private smile on her face that knocked the breath out of him all the way. “You’ll stay.”

Poe said nothing else, only went to the cupboards to get the plates. He helped Rey setup for supper while their friends laughed outside and the sun began to turn westward over the horizon, the silence between them not oppressive, but that soft sort of silence that only falls when nothing else needs to be said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!
> 
> I ... wonder what on EARTH Poe and Rey could do to pass the time ... while everyone's in .... London ....
> 
> thank you so much for reading - I know with the changes to AO3 that the "hits" thing is all out of whack, so I'm trying not to be discouraged, but I've been really grateful to everyone who's sent a message, left a comment, kudos'ed, etc. Thanks for keeping me going, guys.
> 
> I hope you and yours are all safe <3


	12. Journal Entries, 1942-1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey Kenobi-Palpatine's journal, keeping an account of her time as a nurse in Queen Alexandra's Imperial Nursing Service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> At long last, we have some writing from Rey's point of view. I've held off on purpose this long, and I hope you find these entries illuminating. It is .... very angsty though, as well as being by far the longest non-"narrative" chapter so far.
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  Mentions of wartime violence  
> Injuries caused by explosions and artillery shells / loss of limb / burns  
> Mustard gas  
> Many references to death, including death of a friend  
> Angst, grief throughout

* * *

(Journal Entry, October 24, 1942)

_ Papa is dead, and I feel myself more listless than ever. He was so determined that I go to school, but I know my brain would go numb from sitting all day and staring at a book. Tío says I should stay with him and Jyn, and I don’t think I would be unhappy there. I love them almost as much as I loved Papa, and Big Brother tells me - he sees so much with his pale eyes - that because they have no children of their own, they would treat me as their daughter. _

_ But, I do not know how many more families I can join only to be abandoned, denied, lost. Perhaps it is safer for Cassian and Jyn if I do not stay with them. _

_ Terrible things happen to those who claim me as kin. _

_ Another letter from that solicitor. He claims I must adopt my birthright and go by my born name, Rachel Palpatine. I do not think I’d wear the name well. I will always be Rey, just Rey, and Rey Kenobi to anyone who really needs a last name. Papa raised me, not this other grandfather whose name seems uncomfortable at best. _

_ I want to go to war. If I cannot hold a gun, I will find other uses for myself; everyone always said growing up that I acted much older than my age. I am seventeen years next month, and seventeen cannot be so different than twenty-one. Rachel Palpatine has papers, birth certificates, a birthday - an inheritance. _

_ Rey Kenobi is a nobody - and she can fight whenever she likes. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, December 1, 1943)

_ I have claimed my inheritance, if only to have enough money to bribe the enlisting officer at the encampment in London. I feel ever so terrible to leave Tío, who has been so kind to me these last few months. I also feel awful to leave dear Jyn but she seems like she would understand the burning inside of me, the anger that because I am a woman, and a girl in the eyes of the law, I can do nothing but wait for the men to win out against this evil. _

_ I leave in two weeks, and then God willing I will become a nurse and go to war. Tío has shown me much of how to work in a medical situation, and Papa was a healer too, in his own ways. He told me my mother was a nurse in the Great War, and then she was not terribly older than myself. _

_ This is my legacy: helping those who suffer in the dark. I refuse to accept the legacy of the other side of my family, like my father before me. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, March 5, 1943)

_ It is - not quite exciting, but almost like exciting, to be part of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Nursing Service!  _

_ I do not think I am the only woman here who lied about her age - there are a few others in my unit who seem only a year or so older than myself. Even the women who are certainly 21, married with no children yet to keep them from serving, seem as young as I. _

_ We took in soldiers here at Château Dun Rumel, casualties from the 1st and 8th regiment. I share a tent with Tallisan Lintra, a lovely girl who I think I shall be fast friends with. It is difficult work, but our 600-bed hospital has only the remnants of the casualties from the last battle, and most of the men on my ward have simple injuries and need more kind words than intense care.  _

_ My next rotation will be through the burn ward, and Tallie - my dear Tallie - tells me to be strong because it will not be as pleasant.  _

_ It is an evil thing, this war, but here among the trees and countryside, it is hard to believe how such evil could exist in such a beautiful place. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, April 6, 1943)

_ Sixteen men died in front of me today. _

_ I do not have much else to say, other than we have marching order to go to the Middle East. We leave for Tunisia in a week. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, May 23, 1943)

_ Sousse is beautiful, and Tallie and I share a tent in the olive grove. Our hospital is twice the size of the one we helped build in Château Dun Rumel, and run six times as efficiently. _

_ The doctors from this country are so funny and clever - they have been teaching me some French as well as Arabic, and I hope I do not make them laugh so with my awful accent. _

_ We have ejected the Axis powers from Tunisia at long last - I have not written in weeks while the worst of the battles kept us on our feet and in fourteen-hour shifts.  _

_ One of my favorite patients here, an RAF pilot with kind eyes, tells me he wants to marry me when this is all over. His name is John, and he is a major from Southampton. He is recently twenty-three, and he came in with a terrible wound on his left side, but he’s been showing improvement. I tell him he has to dance with me first, if he should like to marry me. I cannot have a husband who does not like to dance. _

_ Tallie thinks it’s sweet, that I tease the major so. She says he needs the encouragement however he can get - perhaps she does not realize that I would not mind so much, to marry a brave pilot with kind eyes and a soft laugh.  _

_ He’s terribly handsome, even under his fever and pale skin and the weight he has lost from being injured and tired. His hair is blonde when it is not damp with sweat, and his eyes are a soft blue, an infinite kind of blue, like the sky above us when we first sailed here. _

_ The doctors think he should be out of bed in five days, and then we can dance. I have never danced with a man, and I think John will be a fine partner. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, May 30, 1943)

_ We prepare to leave Sousse tomorrow, this time for a little island called Pantelleria. We should be there within a week. _

_ John died last night. It wasn’t his wound that killed him. It was malaria. He was upright and laughing with me on the morning of the 28, and that night he was gripped with a terrible fever and he never recovered. _

_ I have seen countless men die now. Of horrific wounds, of limbs torn clear off by bombs, of gangrenous infection. _

_ John’s death was different. Quieter. His breathing changed slowly and then all at once.  _

_ I was off-shift, but the ward manager let me sit with him for six hours. I held his hand when he died.  _

_ Twenty minutes before he looked at me with such hope behind his eyes and asked me if I’d marry him. _

_ I told him he should get better if I were to marry him. _

_ He shook his head and asked me if I’d marry him even if he never got better. I kissed his hand and told him I would, and I managed not to cry until he had finished breathing and I was back to my tent. _

_ I cried as though my heart had broken, and Tallie held me all night. I do not know who I cried for: John, myself, the soldiers still fighting, Papa who I still miss so badly it feels my stomach will fall out, all of us. _

_ The world has a broken heart. And I do not know how to heal it. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, September 20, 1943)

_ Sicily is pretty, I suppose. It is hard to focus on it with the men who pour into the makeshift hospital. _

_ I treated an Italian soldier yesterday. He was - _

_ Well, he was very kind. Maybe a year older than I was. Scared senseless. He is to be a prisoner, I am sure, but I do not know for what purpose the military intends to use a nineteen-year old Italian farmboy. _

_ He asked for his mother in the height of his delirium. I do not know Italian, but I have heard enough dying men ask for their mothers in all languages now that I could recognize it anywhere. _

_ I held his hand while they set his leg. It might have to be amputated.  _

_ I wonder if it makes me a bad subject of the Crown that I hope he keeps his leg, and I hope he goes home to his mother. But I am a nurse first, I think, and I will not apologize for helping someone who is just as scared as I am. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, December 17, 1943)

_ I have been stationed here at Policlinic for two weeks, and tonight there was an air raid! _

_ Most soldiers who came in, came in covered in horrifying blisters. We didn’t know what had caused it, until an officer burst in and demanded we wear masks and gloves. Mustard gas. _

_ Wretched invention. _

_ We used a combination of vaseline and Penicillin to treat the men, and it seemed to work, only we do not have much in the way of pain medication. _

_ There are some men who I pray do not make it through the night. Their suffering is too great, but it makes me hate myself to think this. But death would be a mercy for them. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, December 18, 1943)

_ I don’t know what to write. _

_ They took some of the unit down to help near to the water, where the air raid had started. _

_ The - mustard gas - it lingered in places, and ... _

_ And I did not know she had asthma. She has been my dearest friend for a year, and I never knew she - she must have been worried that she would be kept from service if they knew. _

_ Tallie. Oh God, Tallie. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, June 10, 1944)

_ I have not written in so long. Months on the orthopaedic wing, which was horrific in its own way, but controllably so. Men had a better chance of survival if they came to us there. _

_ I almost wonder if that old Colonel, who ran that part of the hospital, did not realize how lost I was after Tallie’s death. He is a sweet old Scots gent, and he always tugged my braid when he was pleased with me. I wonder if I reminded him of someone at home. _

_ Now Rome has been liberated, and I have been granted a weeks’ leave to explore the city. The Pope even offered special services at the Vatican for those fighting the war - it was odd, to see so many people from different religions, and backgrounds, stumble into that church. _

_ The Pope made a grand entrance, and an American fellow in front of me stood up - in the middle of everything!- and took a photo of the Pope! Without permission! Even shouted at him to get his attention. _

_ And the Pope, well, he turned and waved at the camera, a small smile on his face. It made me laugh. I don’t know why it made me laugh, but I felt joy in that moment - and I, raised Anglican, and not terribly god-fearing besides - and I have not felt that at all since my dear Tallie died. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, September 5, 1944)

_ Greece is beautiful, and it seems as though the pace of the war has slowed down, at least here. It is hard to transition away from the dreadful chaos of the early years into this quieter time, but I do my best. _

_ There is still plenty to do at the BGH, and we intend to add 1000 beds in the next year to make this a permanent hospital. Plenty of work on the wards, and I have moved to nearly full-time orthopaedic and maxillo-facial work on the wards I am assigned to.  _

_ We are busy here, but not in an awful way. It is good to keep my hands busy. I do not know what my mind would turn to if I were left completely idle.  _

* * *

(Journal Entry, November 11, 1944)

_ I am nineteen, now! I feel ever so much older, as though a great, ancient spirit had inhabited my body and made me feel grief and anger and rage in a way that I do not see in the faces of girls my age in Bari. _

_ The war must be over soon, though. I can feel it. And the officers seem so much more optimistic now. The war will be over, and I can go home to Cassian and Jyn, and Baze and Chirrut. I can see my family again. _

* * *

(Journal Entry, March 30, 1945)

_ Here in Cairo, there is a strange young man in one of the beds. _

_ He is - well, it must be impolite to think so, but I believe him to be part-giant _ _. _ _ The other girls joke that he needs a bed at the end of his bed for his long legs. His moods are quite dour, and he snaps at most girls who come to check on him, but I marched up to him and introduced myself and told him where I was from, and quite firmly completed my examination. _

_ When I came back the next day, he addressed me as Rachel. I do not know how he gleaned my full name - no one has called me Rachel since the solicitor years ago. Perhaps he sees through me. It feels as though he can. _

_ His name is Ben, and he is an American. He has thick, dark hair - almost black - and he let me wash it, after not letting anyone touch his head for weeks apparently. Half his face is covered in bandages from some horrible wound he still does not speak of. There are random shellings still, but it is odd he did not come in with a unit. _

_ I worry that he must have stumbled around, half-blind and driven by pain, and must have suffered some terrible memory loss. _

_ He knows, at the very least, his name: Benjamin Solo. It sounds like the name of a man in one of the movies, a hero for sure. When he does snap at me, I try to remember how much he has suffered, and how I myself have suffered.  _

_ When he speaks gently, he speaks so softly with me I do not know what to make of it. He speaks softly with no one else. I am the only one allowed to change his bandages because he tells me he recognizes my touch even when the pain is too awful for him to focus. _

_ He tells me - well, he tells me many sweet things, in between the bouts of pain and fits of anger he is prone to.  _

_ I wonder what kind of man he is when he is not in pain, and if he would be soft with me. After the war, I will need someplace soft to rest my head. _

_ That is all I want, I think, when this is over. Something safe, and something soft, and something completely mine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading - I hope some of Rey's motivations and character make more sense now?
> 
> We'll get snippets from her journal during Ben's courtship, as well as early days of their marriage. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think, even if it's a kudos or a keysmash or an exclamation point or a HOW DARE YOU, etc. Thank you so much for reading and those of you who are keeping me encouraged writing this!


	13. Alone at the Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey spend their first day alone at Hope Cottage as the heat continues to grow both outside and inside the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings**  
>  Uhhh nothing new, but idk if you'll like me at the end of this.

Things weren’t so terribly different with Rose, Finn, and Jannah gone.

They took off first thing Monday morning, Poe walking them down to the village to catch a ride to the train station. He went to write after he returned, nodding at her pleasantly as he passed her working in the garden, and Rey lulled her own strange spike of nerves as she weeded through the potatoes.

She could have told him to leave with them - but he was paying, she reasoned, and while Finn had been kind enough to pay for the week to keep their places here, she needed the money so she could send it by the end of the month to keep a roof over her own head.

Rubbing her neck as she sat back on her heels, Rey let out a tense sigh. Something sharp pulled between her shoulder blades, but she had no dignified way of reaching it - nor undignified either, she was sure. Rolling her shoulders slightly, she gritted her teeth and went back to work, determined to rid the garden of weeds and fill her bucket with useful tubers and vegetables.

When she at last stood, Rey stretched her back out with relief and shielded her eyes to look up at a loose shingle on the roof. Her bedroom window was cast open to tempt a breeze, and she thought wistfully of a bath and a nap; with only one other mouth to feed, she might not have to put forth so much energy and resources into supper.

_ Perhaps Poe would make supper - _

Rey shook her head, aghast. He, her guest, cooking for her? Of course, he and Finn had surprised her on more than one occasion with a meal cooked or a chore completed, but it was mortifying to think to  _ ask  _ for it. 

No, she would go inside and wash up in a timely manner and make herself as useful as the produce sitting in her bucket, and that was that.

As she scrubbed a potato, she thought fondly of a time when she and her friend, Tallie, had discovered some vegetables in a field while walking between hospitals. They had giggled and stashed it in their skirts and dined with aplomb that night, toasting each other like royals and laughing so hard they were nearly reported to the colonel.

Rey sniffed and kept scrubbing, not wanting to brush her cheek in case there were scraps of wild onion on her hands.

“Rey?”

“Yes?” Rey didn’t turn to face Poe and kept working.

“Is … everything alright?”

“I-” Rey half-turned to look at him, forgetting that there was a tear on her face. “Yes.”

“You’re crying.” He walked forward slowly, concern on his face. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Rey said hurriedly, “Don’t worry about-”

“Rey. What’s wrong?” Poe’s gaze was heavy on her, but she found it to be the opposite of suffocating. Her chest burned with the need to have him nearer, to tell him all things, and she  _ wanted  _ to tell him. So she did.

“I was thinking,” she began haltingly, her fingers pruned from scrubbing, her shoulders still aching from the labor of the day. “About my friend.”

“Oh.” Poe’s smile was soft, hopeful. It hurt more than his confused gaze had. “That’s - I don’t believe I’ve met any of your friends - besides Jyn and Cassian, of course.”

Rey’s answering smile was hesitant, and she felt it slip off and fall into the bucket she was working over as she turned half-way away from him. “You wouldn’t have met Tallie.” She returned to scrubbing a turnip, angrily this time. “And - Cassian and Jyn are the only friends I have.”  _ Ben made damn sure of that- _

“Tallie.” Poe hummed thoughtfully and then cleared his throat. “Any - any chance her last name is Lintra?”

Rey froze and looked at him again. “Y-yes. Yes, it was. Did you know her?” 

Her eyes filled with tears, and her heart felt like it might crack in half - Tallie’s family had been killed in the Blitz, and there’d been no one left to mourn with her, only the distant name of a sweetheart Tallie had shared with her quietly when talking hopefully of the future.

“My - my friend.” Poe’s jaw worked briefly over  _ something. _ “Ziff,”  _ that was it, his name was silly, Yolo - Yolo Ziff,  _ “he, uh, hell of a pilot, and -” he shook his head. “He was going to propose when the war was over.”

“She-” Rey bit her lip, and Poe nodded.

“Yeah. He got the letter a few weeks before our last flight together.” Poe fiddled with a potted flower on the counter. He was quiet for a moment, and then: 

“Used to read us her letters. She sounded like a real firecracker. She and the gal she shared a tent with used to get into some serious pranks. Apparently they changed all the signs for the Highway Division to say-”

“Hot-pie Division.” Rey looked up and laughed. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“That was you?” Poe asked, something strange in his face. “You were her -”

“Yes.” Rey nodded and pushed her hands back under the water for something to do. “That was me.”

“Ziff was so hurt that she’d died alone, without him.”

“She wasn’t alone,” Rey said fiercely. “I was with her. I held her hand when she died. Half our unit was in the room. We all loved her.”

“Yeah.” Poe nodded, looking sad again. 

“What happened to him?” Rey asked when she felt brave enough to.

Poe had turned as though to walk outside by that point, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Died at Normandy.” 

They exchanged a long look before they continued on, Rey with the vegetables, and Poe with his wandering.

Everyone had their own way of coping, Rey thought, picking up a carrot and scrubbing viciously. And maybe one day they’d actually start to work.

* * *

After dinner, Poe walked into the parlor with a small book in his hands. Spying Rey on the couch with Bea sleeping next to her, he nearly tripped over himself apologizing, and Rey rolled her eyes, throwing a mended sock into her pile.

“You can stay.”

“There’s only-” Poe gestured at the end of the single sofa in the parlor, and Rey’s lips twitched as his consternation.

She had, in no way, imagined the heat that had flared between them in the last few weeks. She had seen him stare at her - stare at her mouth - when it was hardly proper. Dinner had been silent that very night, silent but charged with something almost desperate lingering under Poe’s tone when he politely asked for the cream or offered to help clean up the plates.

Heat crackled under skin as she watched him linger in the doorway, and Rey gestured to the end of the sofa as well. “You can join me.”

Poe nodded and crossed to the seat, settling in a little awkwardly and cracked his book open.

Within a few minutes, he was so engrossed in his book that she wondered if she’d imagined the hooded glance he’d given her when hesitating to sit down. 

“What are you reading?” She asked before she could stop herself.

_ Stupid, foolish, rude, impertinent - _

“Oh.” Poe smiled and closed the book to show her the cover. “Re-reading, actually.”

“Auden?” Rey smiled at the title. “I used to love him as a girl.”

“Heavy stuff for a girl,” Poe commented before turning red. “I - I mean for anyone young, not just - not just girls-”

“I understood your meaning,” Rey said, allowing him to relax slightly and nod. 

She figured that was the end of the conversation, and then:

“What’s your favorite?” She glanced over at Poe who was staring at the empty fireplace, his cheeks still ruddy. “Of Auden’s. Did you - did you have a favorite poem?”

“My favorite-” Rey repeated, slightly blankly.

“Poem of his - did you have one?” Poe winced and then shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll let you get back to your w-”

“As I walked out one evening,” Rey answered, having caught up to his meaning at last. She was slightly shocked. 

No one had asked about her favorite  _ anything _ in so long.

“Stand, stand at the window, let your tears scald and start,” Poe said with a sad half-smile, his eyelids heavy as he glanced over at her.

“You will love your crooked neighbor with all your crooked heart,” Rey finished, and their next smiles were equal.

She turned back to her darning, and Poe opened his book again, some sort of gentle understanding blossoming between them. 

She heard the clock ticking in the hallway, a low, throbbing toll that seemed to thrum her veins and stirred a feeling inside her she was unfamiliar with. Unable to say nothing a moment longer, Rey paused in her mending.

“Poe?”

“Yes?” She was unable to handle the way he looked at her, either. It was as though he would earnestly care about anything she could say after this, even if it were a comment on the way rain was hitting the window behind him. Anything she could say might have worth to him, and it was a staggering thought that made her want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

Perhaps she would invite him in that enterprise.

Blushing now, Rey spoke hesitantly, afraid it might suddenly change and she would be open to ridicule.

“You could - I mean to say, I would not mind it, if you were to - read aloud.”

“Oh.” Poe seemed to consider this and then, with a pleased smile, opened his book back up and cleared his throat. “You can ask me to skip a poem if it’s one you’ve heard and don’t like it.”

She nodded, and he began to speak - and, as he did, his expressive voice casting a spell over her, she set her mending down and listened only, enthralled by the poetry.

“Now the leaves are falling fast,” he read, “Nurse’s flowers will not last; nurse to the graves are gone, and the prams go rolling on.” Blushing, he stopped and looked at her. “I don’t have to read this one-”

Figuring he meant the reference to a dead nurse (and a nurse _ maid  _ at that), Rey shook her head. “Please, continue.”

It wasn’t until he read, “ _ the active hands must freeze, lonely on the separate knees _ ,” that heat erupted inside her, an unbidden thought of Poe’s hands unlonely on her knees, not freezing but hot as the midday sun, spreading her knees apart -

He kept going, and she let herself sink further into his reading. She curled up on the sofa, lulled by his voice soothing over the familiar vowels and lulling over consonants, trying to ignore the throb in her lower belly; with Bea sleeping between them, the blanket comforting and warm on her lap, her own eyes grew heavier. At one point, Poe dropped a large hand to Bea’s side and stroked the cat absentmindedly; Rey watched his hand move, the motions drowsy and soothing. 

As she finally let herself drift off, completely worn down by his pleasant voice, she swore she could feel his hand against her - not on her flesh or her clothing, snagging at her, claiming her. But somewhere deeper, as though he had reached inside her grieving heart and touched her spirit, reviving it as though from a long slumber.

That was her last thought before she dozed off completely. 

When she woke again, the rain had changed outside, and the world had grown darker.

Bea was gone, a warm spot against her side remaining and Poe -

-and Poe -

He was gone.

Frowning, Rey sat up, a blanket falling off her lap. She looked at it for a moment after picking it up and realized he must have set it over her. A sweet, comforting thought - he must not have wanted the impropriety of being near her when she was asleep, Rey thought, a gentleman then.

Soft music drifted down the hallway when she stepped out of the parlor. Rubbing her eyes, Rey walked towards the glow of light at the end of the hallway, feeling as though she were in a dream with the rain lashing against the roof and a gentle melody floating around her as she crossed through darkness.

Her breath nearly left her in a gasp when she entered the sitting room at the front of the house and saw Poe standing, illuminated by the lamp behind him, looking like the statue of a greek god, like the ones she had seen in Bari.

Her gasp caught his attention: Poe turned to her, already frowning in apology. “I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“You didn’t.” Rey laughed and put a hand to her throat. “I - I shouldn’t have slept there all night. I should retire.”

“Of course.” Poe nodded. “Unless you wanted to dance before you went to bed?”

Still not sure this wasn’t a dream, Rey found herself unresistant to the idea of being close to him.

“One dance,” she said. “The next one.”

Poe held a hand out with a surprised smile, his eyes crinkled at the corner as though speaking of a lifetime of his easy smiles. Rey felt a great affection for the wrinkles around his eyes. She took his hand and found that she held a great affection for Poe as well, one that grew increasingly hard to combat as the heat made it hard for her to think, and his personality refused to waver despite the grief that crossed his eyes, or the days that sometimes grew stultifying in their warmth.

The record slipped to the next song, and Rey blushed as she recognized it. Poe pulled her into his arms and she went all too willingly, his hand wrapped around hers, his other hand on her waist. Again, he sang along to the Andrews Sisters, a song they had already danced to, a few weeks and a lifetime ago.

“I can see no matter how near you’ll be, you’ll never belong to me,” Poe’s voice was as enthralling singing as it was reading poetry, and Rey’s eyes slipped closed as she swayed to the music with him. Soon their chests were pressed together, and her stomach twisted with warmth. Poe continued to sing, his voice slightly rougher, perhaps the only inclination that he too was affected by their proximity, his voice rougher and near her ear, which only added to the heat in her veins.

Rey tilted her head slightly so her nose brushed against his ear, swallowing past her own shock at her boldness. Poe stopped singing and pulled away slightly, his hands unmoving from where they provided anchors to the world for her.

His eyes were heavy again, his mouth not four inches away from her own; his eyes never left her lips, and Rey found herself quite distracted by the plushness of his lips, the sweet, small gap between his front teeth that she’d never quite had the chance to examine - the small scar on his cheek.

She, too, had a scar in a similar place, and her stomach twisted unpleasantly to think where she’d gotten it - twisted unpleasantly until Poe leaned in, ever so much closer than before.

“Rey,” he said, his voice a twisted approximation of its usual tenor. “Rey, I-”

“Yes?” She breathed, their air so tangled together she felt she must be taking him in with every breath. 

“Rey,” he repeated, his nose brushing her cheek - she swore she felt his lips on her skin, and she closed her eyes, heat flushing along her face, down her neck, to her wrists and ankles and he hadn’t even  _ kissed  _ her yet. His hands remained firm yet gentle on her, and they swayed back and forth as Poe stayed, his breathing shakier than it had been.

He could be waiting for her, she reasoned, so Rey turned her head so slightly before she could convince herself otherwise, her eyes still closed - she heard him gasp slightly, and her stomach swooped as though she’d fallen from some great height and was still falling. 

All she could think of was his mouth capturing her own, his hands pulling her in tightly, pressing her to him until they became one entire being; she wanted him to consume her, and she wanted to consume him, wanted him to lay her out on this floor and take her with the rain and the night as witness -

His mouth tracked to the corner of her lips -

And there was a crack of almighty thunder outside, rattling the windows and making her gasp and him startle away from her.

Both breathing heavily now, Rey put a hand to her chest as the song finished on the record and it reached a scratching silence.

Poe’s hair seemed to be wilder than normal, his eyes still intensely focused on her, his breathing fierce enough to match her own; but he didn’t reach back out for her, as she had taken another step away. 

“I should,” Rey said, mustering some dignity, “Retire for the evening. I’m afraid the sun got to my head.”

“Of course.” Poe nodded again and returned to the record player to pull free the disc. “I hope you get some rest, Rey.” He slipped the record into its sleeve and offered her a tight smile, and Rey, now too nervous to invite him upstairs, nodded in return.

“Goodnight, Poe.” Her voice was a murmur now, shocked back into calm.

“Sleep well,” Poe said quietly as she walked up the stairs, adding on a whispered, “ _ sweetheart _ ,” that stoked the embers in her stomach once more.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i am Struggling Once Again because pandemic and quarantine and lack of hits bc the new AO3 server stuff and i would love to hear anything and sorry if you read the end of my postTROS-pregnancy fic and were like ?!? because i just feel like i am Screaming into Void sometimes, and sorry, i hope you enjoyed this and sorry for how intense the slow burn is


	14. Letters: 1942, 1947, 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from O.B. Kenobi to an old friend
> 
> A letter from the office of Reginald Snoke
> 
> Two letters from Poe Dameron - one delivered, one kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS WERE SO NICE LAST CHAPTER I HONESTLY CRIED I havent had that much feedback on something except at the end of really really long fics!!! And it was a middle chapter with unresolved horniess! You guys <3
> 
>  _notes and warnings_  
>  Nothing much in the way of warnings except Poe's first letter is hella horny and unabashedly poetic/purple prose.

* * *

(Personal Letter, March 1942)

_ Luke, _

_ It’s time to come home, my dear boy. My health is failing, and the best of my life needs you. Rey is only sixteen, and struggles with the idea that I might soon be gone. You know she loves deeper than all of us, and she does love you dearly.  _

_ In the past, you yourself have struggled with your place in the world. And while your temperaments might naturally be different - yours, inclined to dreaming, and hers, to passion - you both see such good in the world, that I know you will take good care of each other.  _

_ Traveling is a young man’s enterprise, and I am glad you have seen the world. But the world grows smaller as we grow older - this is not, as you might want to believe, a tragedy. Instead, bring the world you’ve seen and share it among those of us not so lucky, and create a better home with us, here, where we need you more than the rest of the whole world ever could. _

_ If I go before this letter reaches you, please see to it that my home in Canterbury goes to Rey. She will have many options for her place of residence given the recent reveal of who her father’s father was, but she was always so fond of Canterbury, and she won’t be so far from Jyn and Cassian there to cause her any grief.  _

_ I have sent note of my wishes to my solicitor, but I have faith in you over any other, which has always been the reality of my affection for you. _

_ Warm regards, as ever, _

_ O.B. Kenobi _

* * *

(Letter, June 15, 1947)

_ Mrs. Solo, _

_ My office received your correspondence last week regarding the amount of your inheritance and the properties you believe owed to you. I took the pains of responding personally to your inquiry. _

_ The inheritance you received upon the death of your esteemed grandfather will rest under the Solo name in the bank of  _ [redacted] _ , the majority of it divided among stock that your husband wisely purchased last year. Your money exists now in bonds with fine military and industrial organizations, with the F.O. Organization, and with others in that interest. Given the state of the world not two years ago, and given the state of the world now, I think you will find your husband made wise choices with this money. _

_ If you should wish to take the funds you mentioned in your inquiry, you merely need to go to the  _ [redacted]  _ offices in London, with your husband, given that these stocks and holdings exist under his name. Unless, of course, you can provide the birth certificate with your legal name of Palpatine, which would, of course, dissolve the contract created upon your marriage to B. Solo.  _

_ While I understand you might find this news frustrating, I also recall many conversations where you expressed frustration and ignorance of how to proceed when we discussed your inheritance. If I recall correctly, you were most relieved when your husband stepped up to take care of what was his.  _

_ The offices of R. Snoke and K. Ren remain ever your faithful servant, _

_ Reginald Snoke _

* * *

(Personal Letter, June 26, 1951)

_ Rey, _

_ I’ve gone for a walk this morning to clear my head, but it isn’t working.  _

_ It rained last night. We both know it rained last night. As I sit here at the curve of a river who’s overrun its edges, all I can think about is the way the water drips from the leaves above my head. It fills puddles and leaves etches of itself against the surface, and no one can tell which drop of water will push the rest of the drops over the edge and send them spilling out to the earth below. It’s all I can do to watch it, dripping, filling, dripping, until it bursts forth and returns to the soil already heavy with rain. _

_ I think about these drops of water, from sky to branch to puddle to earth - how it started, where it might have traveled from. From which surface did it flit, and become consumed by sky again - was it a surface you know, I wonder. Was it one you’ve touched, one you’ve lived near, on, in.  _

_ I imagine the water spilling over my cupped hands, if I held them under heavy branches long enough, an enterprise that should take all day, I think. Patience, it would take patience, patience I’ve never had much of - but then I think from where this water came, where it tumbled, spilled, slipped before it drenched the branches above my head. I wonder again if this water once trembled near you. If it ever lived on your skin. _

_ Is it a sin, I wonder, to think of the drops of water chasing along your skin, trembling from the cusp of your collarbone, slipping and spilling when it fills the hollows. The taste of it as it winds its way down, a river flowing to the sea below and all along it the taste of salt, and sweet, and earth. Is the water on my head and fingertips, the water on these leaves and pooling into eddies and collapsing and reforming into clouds above our head - is the water water that you’ve known. Water that’s known you.  _

_ Does it have a memory of your skin I wonder - does it know the way your hip curves to rib, the way ankle smooths to calf and higher still. Water collects in my palms and I bring it to my lips, imagining it direct from the giver herself, a cool kiss that tastes and throbs with salt and sweet and earth. _

_ The rain has no stories to share with me today, I think. But, all the same, I sit here and try to think of anything besides how much I wanted you last night, and the water falls around me, and all I can do is tilt my head back and drink. _

_ Yours,  _

_ Poe _

_ P.S. If you read this letter and find it wanting please remember that it’s a god-given miracle that I can even create a full sentence when you exist. Maybe it’s better if I write another letter altogether, and give you that one instead. _

* * *

(Personal Letter, June 26, 1951)

_ Rey, _

_ I’m sorry for startling you last night. I don’t know if it were the thunder or myself that made you come to your senses.  _

_ I understand if it’s too soon after everything for you to have that with me. I’d never force it on you, Rey. I need you to know that. If you told me  _ no  _ with your words or eyes or body for the rest of our lives, I’d never take it from you. I want you, but I want you smiling and free and happy and unhurt so much more.  _

_ One day, I hope you’ll tell me everything. Every story of every scar and every burst of sound that makes you startle. I want to hear them, not so I can write them down, but so that I can make a better story with you, one where we’re both happy, and whole, here in this beautiful place.  _

_ With all my love, unconditional, _

_ Poe Dameron _

_ P.S. I always have something extra to say, I suppose. This time, I wanted to tell you my favorite Auden - I hope you don’t mind that I wrote some of it here: _

_ Time will say nothing but I told you so _

_ Time only knows the price we have to pay; _

_ If I could tell you I would let you know. _

_ If we should weep when clowns put on their show, _

_ If we should stumble when musicians play, _

_ Time will say nothing but I told you so. _

_ There are no fortunes to be told, although, _

_ Because I love you more than I can say, _

_ If I could tell you I would let you know. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho ho Poe gave Rey one of those letters ...  
> but gosh wouldn't it be WILD if he gave her the wrong one !!?!!?? (pushes Atonement under the bed b/c I definitely didn't re-read that this weekend)
> 
> Anyway, thank you thank you thank you a million thank yous for how nice you all were about last chapter. I was legitimately, entirely blown away/in tears/overcome by how sweet you were, and by how INCREDIBLY generous your comments were. Jeez, louise, it was so nice. Seriously. Thank you. Someone on zoom asked why I was smiling so much whenever my email dinged and I was like uhhhhh dog videos? 
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart, sorry for that weird, horny Poe letter, and uh, I hope you're ready for some *ahem* developments next chapter.


	15. Sea and Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rey reacts negatively to Poe swimming in the Channel, the day begins to slowly unravel with revelations and confessions that drastically shift the dynamic of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here they are on day Two of being alone, and WOW do things happen.
> 
> This is the longest chapter so far - and maybe the heaviest (other than some of the letter chapters with the darker content)..
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  References to drowning/near-death by drowning/death from drowning
> 
> Rey has a panic attack
> 
> Discussion of death of parent/death of loved ones (Shara/Obi Wan/Rey's parents)
> 
> More Ben-is-awful storyline: Rey talks about strangulation, violent acts against her, etc
> 
> If you don't like it when the main couple squabbles, see the end note for spoilery warnings.

The heat hadn’t broken over southern England despite the previous evening’s storms. After delivering his now daily letter to Rey, Poe found himself walking near the doctor’s property at midday; Cassian and Jyn had made it clear that they didn’t mind if he used the paths that wound around their cozy house near the bluffs, and Poe appreciated it, as their property was nearest to the path down to the water if he didn’t want to walk to the official dock in the village.

He waved in the direction of the house as he walked past, whistling to himself, and decided he’d take a swim to clear his head - hopefully the water in the channel would still be cold, and it would set his thoughts straight after they’d been so clouded having Rey so near to him last night. He’d been with others before, a handful of partners who’d made him laugh and had given him their precious time, and he’d valued those relationships. 

But, something about Rey set his veins ablaze and there was little he could do to stop it: something deep inside himself called out to her, a powerful yearning that seemed almost separate to his physical body, as much as it threatened to consume his body. Rey was - well, he didn’t take stock in words of soulmates and other halves because he firmly believed every person was their own person, entire and whole, but if anything, it made him feel  _ more  _ himself to be near her, as though the world had winnowed down to one single point in the cosmos, and it was her.

Like every path he’d traveled had surely led him to her front door. 

She had her reasons to want to keep separate, he knew that. And he’d die before he crossed a boundary she didn’t want crossed, but how she’d sighed and touched him last night - Poe was cautious when it came to Rey, but not so cautious he could ignore how she  _ had  _ wanted him, too. Still, the body could want what the heart didn’t, and vice versa, and he was willing to wait until hers agreed enough for him to hold her the way he wanted to hold her, the way a man held a woman when he loved her, the way a man could lay with a woman when he loved her. 

If she didn’t arrive to that agreement inside herself, and share it with him, by the end of the summer, well … 

Poe shook his head and tugged on his collar at the back of his neck, pulling his shirt over his head. He dropped it on the beach and put his shoes on the edge of it to keep it from blowing away in the sea breeze, and he jogged to the edge of the water, keen to have the waves over his head to let himself think.

Shara had taught him how to swim when he was three or four years old, and he’d always liked the water, even when he had flown over it on the most terrifying nights of his life. The water was bigger than he was, as much as the night sky was, and he liked letting go of control slightly, liked being free of gravity and the earth for a few minutes. Easier to think, or not think, when he was swimming.

Poe dove into the water, cutting through the waves and heading past the break point. The water stole the air from his lungs early on from how cold it was compared to the heavy air, and the waves were slightly rougher than they’d been the day he’d sailed here, no doubt due to the storms of last night - and if the clouds on the horizon ahead of him were any sign, the storms that would happen later this afternoon were also stirring the sea.

The water tugged at him, but even with his weakened knee and shoulder, Poe was stronger than the current, and he swam into it, his mind free at last from the turmoil of the last twelve hours.

* * *

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Rey asked Jyn, standing up from the table.

“Of course. Unless you decide to eat lunch with your renter….” Jyn’s face was terribly blank when Rey glanced over at her, and Rey fought the urge to stick her tongue out like a child.

“Poe is self-sufficient at lunchtime, usually,” Rey said, her voice blank in return.

“Is that so.”

“It is,” Rey said.

“What are we talking about?” Cassian asked, walking back in from the toilet, drying his hands on his pants. “How our Starling has a very handsome guest?”

“He -” Rey cut herself off, not wanting to lie, but frustrated at how easily Cassian and Jyn saw through her.

“Rey, you’re a full-grown woman,” Jyn said calmly, setting some plates in the sink. “Cassian and I are only interested in your guest because ... “ She trailed off and cleared her throat. “All we care about is - is he kind, this Poe Dameron?”

“Yes,” Rey answered readily. “Very, even when he thinks no one is looking.” She felt her eyes grow soft as she thought about how gently he handled the smallest of livestock. “And he’s - sweet. Thoughtful. He writes me every day, expects nothing from it.”

“He writes you every day?” Jyn repeated, a sly smile on her face. “Letters, every day?”

Rey nodded.

Cassian grinned at his wife and moved to the sink to start washing up. He looked at Rey over his shoulder to ask, “what does he say, in his letters?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rey said slowly, studying her feet. “I stopped reading them a few weeks ago.”

“Why? Did he say something inappropriate?” Jyn’s voice sharpened inappropriately.

“No, nothing - he didn’t say anything crass, it’s - it’s only …” Rey glanced over at Cassian, who was washing the plates and clearly pretending he was only half-listening. “I suppose, I’m afraid.”

“Afraid that he might become crass?”

“No, not - not Poe. He’s - he isn’t like that.” Rey bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Although, I guess I’ve been - very wrong about that in the pas-”

“No.” Jyn crossed the kitchen quickly and grabbed her hands. “You don’t talk like that. He was a monster, Starling. He took advantage of your good heart, and I only regret he isn’t here so I can’t kick his arse halfway to Spain myself.”

“Hear hear,” Cassian echoed, setting the plates on the drying rack. He turned at the sink and crossed his arms before smiling at Rey, his eyes tired but kind. “You’re too smart to second guess your instincts because of that fucker.”

“Cassian,” Rey said, laughing, surprised at his insult - in English no less.

“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a good word. Fucker.”

“It is,” Jyn agreed with a small smile. “Fitting, too.”

“I suppose,” Rey said, her stomach churning nonetheless. She looked at the clock on the mantle and sighed. “I should be going - I told Maz I’d be there at half past one.”

Jyn and Cassian both kissed her on the cheek and sent her on her way, and Rey waved at them both before continuing on down the path. On a whim, she took the path that wove along the bluffs, her heart racing slightly at the thought of looking down at the water. She set her jaw and walked stubbornly onward, forcing herself to look down towards the beach when she reached the fork in the road.

A familiar, dark head of hair bobbed among the waves. 

Rey put a hand to her throat and swallowed painfully - Poe was in the water, his shirt and shoes abandoned on the rocky sand. He moved swiftly through the rough water, unaware or uncaring of the vicious undercurrent.

“Poe-” Rey’s mouth formed his name, her eyes wide as she watched him duck under the waves before coming back up ten seconds later a solid set of yards away from where he’d vanished.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to move on - but when he vanished under the waves again, her feet halted as she wasn’t able to take her eyes off from where he’d disappeared.

Counting backwards from ten, she waited to see where he’d appear next - maybe she’d call out to him, ask him to accompany her into the village, so her mind wasn’t trapped here wondering when he’d stop his swim - but no head of slicked-back curls appeared.

“Poe?” Rey said his name louder that time. She leaned forward, her feet tripping over themselves, and she grasped a rock for balance. “Poe?!” Louder now.

He didn’t reappear.

“Oh my god-” Rey slipped down the path, twisting her ankle slightly as her legs got caught up in the material of her skirt. Muddy sand splashed around her calves, further ruining her boots, but she didn’t think about it, only stumbled to the water line. “Poe?” She screamed this time, heart in her throat. Her eyes never left the water, and she scanned the waves in front of the point where he’d left his shirt and shoes, desperate in her fear.

“Poe!” She screamed again. An edge of a wave lapped against her boot, wetting the hem of her skirt, and she screamed, in a different kind of fear. “Oh,  _ God _ -”

Rey leapt back from the encroaching tide, her breath ragged and painful in her lungs. Summoning her strength one last time - wondering if perhaps Cassian or Jyn could hear her at this distance, Rey screamed, “Poe!” a hand on her abdomen as though she could stop her stomach from falling out.

“Rey?”

“Oh!” Furious suddenly, Rey spun and watched Poe emerge from the water twenty yards to her left, upright and soaking wet, his curls plastered from his head. He was frowning, but not angrily, but his cheeks were flushed and tan skin slightly rosy from the cold water, and he - and he- “You  _ asshole _ !” Rey screamed, half-sobbing. “What were you d-doing?”

“Swimming?” Poe hazarded, his hands halfway up at his hips. His short pants, as soaking wet as the rest of him, were clinging to his legs, outlining - just about everything - but it was a testament to how bad her fear was that Rey barely noted what he looked like. 

Poe walked towards her slowly, but she marched towards him, her anger blazing.

“You could have died!” She snapped, “It’s  _ dangerous  _ out there-”

“I’ve swam in California,” Poe said, a charming half-smile on his lips. “And in the Gulf of Mexico - these waves aren’t even really waves-”

They were a foot away from each other now, and Rey wanted to grab him and pull him close, but her pride and anger were too mixed in each other, so she shouted instead. “You could have died,” she insisted, angry at herself for how it sounded like she was crying. If her cheeks were wet, it was from the ocean spray and nothing more. “You could have-”

“I didn’t,” Poe said, his voice gentle now. “Hey, hey, Rey-” He took one of her hands and held it between his cold, wet hands. “I’m here. I’m okay. I’m - I’m sorry, okay?”

He swallowed and repeated himself when she screwed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry - I’m okay, and I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think,” Rey said, sniffling horribly, “But,  _ oh,  _ you should - you should be allowed to - if you wanted to, oh, you must think I’m a fool-”

“I don’t,” Poe assured her, still as gentle as before, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, still holding back her angry, scared tears, his smile was as gentle as his voice, his eyes hiding no malice or mockery. “I really don’t - I understand. I do, and I’m  _ sorry _ -”

_ You only understand half of it,  _ she wanted to say,  _ less than half, that’s not the whole story - _

Instead, she let him guide her hand to his bare chest, and he smoothed her palm over his heart, which beat steadily, enthrallingly, under her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Poe repeated, “I’m so sorry, but hey, I’m here, I’m okay-”

Embarrassed of her sudden tears, the ones she could no longer hold back, Rey wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sniffed - he smelled of salt water and cold, of sweat and exertion and something so masculine her stomach trembled in a different way, but Poe held her gently in return, still whispering apologies now and then, half about his disappearing under the water for long, half about how he was getting her dress wet. 

After the third or so such apology, Rey shook her head and muttered, “It’s just a silly old dress, I don’t care-” and then, her words already tumbling out and her eyes blocked and face hiding from the world, more thoughts slipped out, “It can’t take you too.” The truth of it slammed into her, and Rey sucked in a horrible breath that filled her lungs as much as it threatened to collapse them, like it were water pouring into them all over again.

“What?” Poe murmured, his hand gently rubbing her back.

“It can’t take you too,” Rey repeated, terrified at the thought of it, that the water would steal Poe away, good, gentle, strong Poe who’d done nothing in his life to deserve cold saltwater filling his lungs and choking him, good, sweet, wonderful Poe-

She held him tighter, and he responded in kind, and they stood for another few minutes without speaking until Rey stopped trembling. The sound of real waves rushing in replaced the roaring in her eyes, and Rey tried not to focus on it, but stiffened all the same.

“Let’s get out of here,” Poe suggested, as though sensing her discomfort. “Here, lemme - lemme get dressed, okay?”

Rey nodded, and after he gathered his shoes, socks and shirt, Poe took her hand and walked with her up the path, not stopping to put his shoes back on until they were up on the bluff again.

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispered, deeply mortified now, “I don’t know what came over me, I-”

“Hey.” Poe pulled his shirt over his head and tousled his curls, water flying every which way. “I’m the sorry one. I won’t do it again.”

“You can swim,” Rey whispered, her face flushed. “I can’t - I wouldn’t want to stop you from- because of my -my hysterics...”

Poe took her hand again, just as gentle as before. “None of that. I won’t pull a stunt like that again, I promise. Even if I go swimming again, I won’t stay under like that.”

They walked down the path towards the village, Rey moving on instinct - some distant, organized part of her mind remembering she had errands to run - and Poe clearly not wanting to abandon her after her display.

“You were under for so long - How  _ did _ you hold your breath?” Rey asked when the water was behind them, only the far-off sound of waves signalling that it was still there. The sun peaked out from behind a heavy cloud - a signal of later storms - and dried the spots of water on her dress. Poe’s face, tilted up to the sun, lit with a smile before he answered.

“My ma taught me how to swim when I was a real little sprout.” Poe laughed and looked over at her, and she sucked in a breath - not from fear this time - at how beautiful he was in the sunlight. His hand tightened around hers, and she gripped it right back, pleased to have an anchor. “She used to say I was half fish, like a mermaid from one of the old sailor stories. My dad would try to time me for how long I could stay under, and I was a competitive kid. Still am. Competitive, that is.”

“Oh.” Hearing him talk about his pleasant, normal childhood with parents who loved him made Rey feel equal parts sad and happy. “Are your parents still in … Texas?” She searched her memory of the name of the state, wondering if Texas was as big as all the American soldiers claimed it was.

“My dad moved to Miami a few years back,” Poe said readily, his gait and voice not changing as he added, “Wanted to be closer to family when I started globe-trotting, especially with my mother gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey said, cheeks flushing again. “I didn’t know.”

“I hadn’t told you,” Poe pointed out, half-smiling at her again. “Hey, no, don’t be sad - I mean, I still get sad about it plenty, but it’s been more than twenty-four years since she died. I was ten when it happened.”

Blushing suddenly as her mind did the easy calculation - he was thirty-four then, or thirty-five, to her twenty-five, the same age difference as her and  _ \- don’t think about it  _ \- Rey nodded and to her surprise, gave him a little piece of her own past. 

“I don’t remember much of my mother,” she said softly, thinking of the few hazy, happy memories she had. “Except I know that she loved me. She died when I was four, in an accident that killed my father, too.”

“Shit.” Poe squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile. “I’m really, terribly sorry to hear that.”

“We’re quite the pair,” Rey said lightly, nudging his shoulder with her own, and Poe smiled and nodded as they turned the final path towards the village. “Would you mind terribly, waiting while I spoke to Maz?”

“Not at all.”

Her conversation with Maz was quick, as she was only collecting some supplies and paying her for next week’s deliveries. After shaking hands with the wizened old woman, Rey gathered the milkcrate full of bottled beer and other treats to rest on her hip. Her muscles felt shaky and sore - no doubt a response to how afraid she’d been at the shore - but she made herself carry it anyway.

Of course, the second Poe saw her exit with it, he held his hands out. “I can carry that.”

“You don’t have to,” Rey said, frowning at him. “I’m quite capable.”

“I know,” Poe said steadily, “But if we’re attacked on the walk home, your hands better be free to protect both of us.”

He smiled so earnestly at her, that Rey could only laugh and hand over the crate. She was still smiling as they turned a corner, and was about to suggest they pop into the general store to get some candy, her thoughts strangely giddy and wild (especially if she were considering such a frivolous purchase) when Poe cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, “do you - do you know that man? He’s staring at you.”

Rey froze and looked up, the blood draining from her face and hands quickly.

Armitage Hux was here.

He held his hat in his hands, standing in the shadow of the small banking office, a smirk on his pale, smug face.

She nodded once, tersely, and Poe adjusted his grip on the crate to touch her elbow gently. “Want to turn around?” He asked, low enough that Hux couldn’t hear over the hubbub of the day. “Or - want me to punch him? I can punch him, he looks punch-able.”

She laughed, a strained noise, even if she did appreciate Poe’s attempts at levity. “No. I can talk to him. Only -”

“Only?”

“Would you be there?” She asked, mortified to have to ask, but not wanting to face that smarmy bastard alone. “So he can’t claim I promised anything?”

“What?” She could hear the scowl in Poe’s voice. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“My husband’s solicitor,” she whispered as they walked up to him. “Hello, Mr. Hux. What brings you all the way down here?”

“Mr. Snoke sends his regards,” Hux said, half-sneering as he looked at her and then down the street, “And given how lucrative your little business has proven to be, he wanted me to visit to see if there were any other properties he might want to invest in.”

“He isn’t my investor,” Rey snapped. “I’m merely paying off Ben’s debts, and when that’s done, I shall no longer require any of your  _ services _ .”

“Right.” Hux’s thin lips twitched. “Of course. Well, given your late husband’s propensity to spend much more than he could afford - even with what your inheritance offered him - I’m sure we’ll be doing business together for many years to come.” He sneered at Poe openly. “Good day to you both.”

Rey watched him walk away, suddenly, viciously wishing the worst possible sunburn on his fair head, and then turned on her heel and walked towards home, forgetting momentarily that Poe had born witness to all of that.

“What -” Poe was at her side suddenly “- was that idiot talking about?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” She felt her spine stiffen in humiliation - she hated talking about money under any circumstances, and to have Poe hear her dirty laundry aired in such a way...  _ Oh _ , it would certainly keep her up that night.

“I thought Hope Cottage was yours?” Poe asked, his voice clearly hesitant.

“It is,” Rey said coldly, scowling into the distance as they walked along hurriedly. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder. “My grandfather left it to me when he died, it’s the house I grew up in.”

“Palpatine owned that house?”

She shook her head with a rough jerk. “No. My mother’s father, Oliver Kenobi. Everyone called him Obi. He wasn’t extravagantly wealthy like my other grandfather, but we were happy, and when he died-” Rey shook her head again to clear it. “Never mind.  _ Ben _ -” she spat his name, “spent anything I had, anyway. Not that I cared a lick about my inheritance, but his creditors certainly cared about how much he owed them, so…” She trailed off, furious again. 

“Oh.” Poe cleared his throat. “Is there anything left you could - you could sell, or something you could say - I mean, they were his debts, not yours-”

“We shared accounts,” Rey said, still furious and wanting to move on from the topic, “they were in both our names, and he used my money to encourage those debts. Pretended it was still there, even when it wasn’t, relying on my birth name.”

“If you had something you could offer as collateral, or something you could give to the bank,” Poe began, but Rey cut him off, her temper flaring as she caught his meaning.

“If you’re talking about that  _ necklace,  _ I don’t like to think about that dreadful old thing, and I’m not even sure where it is-”

“I found it,” Poe protested, and she noticed he was limping rather badly as they almost jogged down the uneven path. She forced herself to slow down slightly, and Poe looked relieved when she glanced over at him, relieved and also apologetic. “I wrote you a letter about it -”

“I stopped reading when I saw what you were writing about,” Rey snapped. “And I haven’t read any of your letters since!”

Poe nodded abruptly, his cheeks bright red now, and Rey felt miserable suddenly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, mortified for a different reason. She stopped walking and held a hand out, “Oh, you didn’t deserve-”

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Poe muttered, eyes downcast as he half-turned towards her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I will,” Rey insisted, reaching out for his hand. She steeled her stomach in case he snatched it away or yelled at her - something Ben did frequently when she tried to reach out to him mid-argument to cut him off before he truly lost his temper - but Poe only flipped his hand, looking grateful for the contact. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Poe said, lifting his eyes to her face with a weak smile. “Only my pride’s wounded, ma’am, nothing terrible-”

“Your letters are lovely,” Rey said, wanting to mortify herself somehow if it made him look less sad, “And - and I love that you write them, and I’ve kept every single one, only I - I cannot bring myself to read them, and I don’t know why.”

He was silent for a moment, considering something, and then, a half-smile on his gloriously full mouth, he said, “You keep ‘em?”

“Yes,” Rey said, her face surely on fire. “They’re in a box under my bed, every one.”

“Hmm.” Poe’s mouth twitched again, and she saw the wrinkles around his eyes, meaning he was holding back a larger smile. “Huh.” He tugged her hand gently and they walked again, quieter and slower now as they both were lost in their thoughts.

Rey hoped Poe’s were in a pleasant direction because she couldn’t shake the random appearance of Armitage Hux in any way that made her able to sink further into how nice it was just to hold Poe Dameron’s hand - and with the storm clouds gathering more fiercely over the water to their left, she wondered what else the coming weeks would bring with the bad weather.

* * *

It was so damned hot - Poe loosened his collar as much as he could and propped his feet up on the small table, trying to let his knee stretch after all the activity of the day.

He sighed and turned the page of the Dickens novel he was trying to get through, but with the constant financial woes of the protagonist, Poe wasn’t at all able to escape his conversation with Rey that afternoon, the desperate fear in her eyes, masked as anger, as she spoke about the disaster her scum of a husband got her into.

Poe had no doubts now - Benjamin Solo, wherever he was after life, had been a terrible man and worse husband. It was perhaps only the violence of his death - terrifying enough to scare Rey years later, like she had been scared thinking he had drowned earlier that afternoon - that caused Poe to allow any sympathy at all for him. 

But then again he thought, tucking a bookmark into the novel and setting it aside, with what Cassian had hinted at that day on their walk, and with the way he’d seen Rey’s face cloud over with sudden movement or raised voices, with small things she had said here and there - maybe he didn’t feel any sympathy at all for the manner of Ben’s death. Maybe it wasn’t violent enough.

A strong breeze kicked through the window, the sky darkening outside, and Poe watched the clouds roll in, the leaves on the trees flipping over with the change in the wind. A thought occurred to him - risky, if Rey would be furious with him, but worth it, if it helped her, and Poe stood and crossed to the desk he hadn’t touched since the day he wrote Rey that letter.

He opened the right drawer immediately, but didn’t see the necklace there, only piles of folded paper bound with twine. Frowning, he rifled through the drawer, picking up the bundled papers and shoving aside similar bundles until he found the diamond necklace tucked into a crevasse near the back.

There were nearly fifty letters crammed into the wide drawer of the desk, and Poe studied the unfamiliar handwriting; he flipped one bundle over and saw that the letter on the bottom had used up both sides of paper, and at the bottom of that sheet he read,  _ Your husband, Ben Solo. _

Startled, he looked at the papers with new eyes. These were letters from Ben to Rey - crammed in a desk drawer, hiding as much as the necklace. Shaking his head, Poe set it on the desk - his ears perking up at a familiar footfall in the hallway.

“Rey!” He called before he could chicken out. “I found-”

She stood in the doorway, and as she took in where he was standing, her face grew white. “What do you think you’re doing?” She demanded, sweeping into the room, her hands balled into fists.

“I was -” Poe swallowed, remembering why he was here. He held out the diamond necklace, letting it dangle from his fingertips. “Here, it’s - here, I’m sorry, I only wanted to get this for you, and - and it had fallen-”

“I told you not to worry about it,” Rey snapped, grabbing the bundle of letters. “But you couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky or anything, I really just wanted you to have this as an opti-”

“You don’t know better than I do,” Rey said, her face bright red, and Poe’s mouth snapped shut in confusion.  _ How had he given her the impression  _ \- “If I don’t want to think about this damned thing-” she snatched the necklace and hurled it back in the drawer, “- I won’t!”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Poe began, “But-”

“And these.” Rey shook the letters, tears in her eyes, and Poe swallowed nervously, not sure how to convince her he hadn’t meant to grab them- “Why on  _ earth  _ would you be looking through these? What on earth could be in here for you?”

“I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t, you were only - only looking around, and getting into - my personal things,  _ Ben’s  _ things - you probably want this for some awful, awful story you’ll write about me one day, and-”

“What?” Poe asked, aghast, “That couldn’t be further from the-”

“You’ll just take what you can from this place, any of it, these letters included, and then you’ll leave,” Rey continued, her fingers white where she gripped the papers, “And - and  _ fine,  _ you’re a writer, you like stories, you can-

She gasped for breath and started to rifle through the stack in her hands, her fingers shaking as she undid the knot of twine. “Rey, please, stop -” Poe begged, “I didn’t mean to intrude,  _ please,  _ you don’t have to tell me anything-”

Rey had found what she wanted and slapped the rest of the letters on the desk, shaking out one, slightly yellowed paper and began to read. “April 13, 1949 -  _ My dearest, I am sorry I broke your necklace. As always, my first priority is your happiness and your health. I understand that the necklace, as hideous as it was, was important to you. Why it was, I cannot say, for you did not stop to explain it to me when you left the house in a rainstorm. You could have caught your death, Rachel - all over a necklace. But regardless, I upset you, and I am sorry that you were so distraught over a necklace. It clearly meant a great deal to you. _ ” 

She stopped reading, her voice too thick with tears to continue, and she shoved the letter back in place, her chest heaving as her face screwed up, clearly to stop herself from sobbing.

“Rey,” Poe said, his voice still begging as he saw how badly she was tearing herself apart to do this, “Please, why are you hurting yourself like this?”

“I am _always_ hurt,” Rey said with a sob, “Every minute, of every day, I’m - I have a perfect memory, did you know that?” Rey shook the stack of letters at him again, her jaw trembling visibly. “I remember _everything_. I know the names and faces of each man who died in my care. I remember Tallie’s last words. I remember _every foul_ _thing_ that man ever said to me, or, or wrote to me-”

His heart twisted so badly he was afraid it might rip in half.

Rey glared at the desk drawer. “He gave me  _ that _ after he ripped the necklace I loved more than anything, the one I made with my mother as a child, clean off my neck. You … you repaired it.”

Poe frowned, thinking of the necklace he’d given back to her a few weeks ago, horrified that Ben would do such a violent thing to his wife, the person he was supposed to love. “What?”

She looked thoughtful now, her mind clearly elsewhere. “I didn’t want diamonds,” Rey said softly, “I just wanted him to-” Her voice broke and her face crumpled; Rey hid behind her hand for a moment collecting herself, and Poe fought against the urge to hold her, fought against it with every fiber of his being.

Then, she looked up, and:

“You should see what he gave me when he strangled me half to death.”

“ _ What _ ?” Poe felt sick, but Rey looked distant, her eyes tracking the storm building outside the window.

The skin of her neck was smooth, unblemished, but Poe had seen marks left by desperate hands in the trenches when weapons failed dying men - the thought of those marks on Rey’s skin made him want to summon the ghost of Ben Solo and rip him apart piece by piece.

“Rey, sweetheart, why are you carrying this around by yourself-”

“I don’t want to talk,” Rey continued, setting the letters down on the desk once more. “The past is the past, and it - it feels like it happened to an entirely different woman - or girl - now. She’s gone as much as he is, out there in the channel-”

“Why won’t you go in the water?” Poe asked, suddenly curious to a morbid degree especially after how terrified she’d been earlier. “Rey, what - what happened that night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Rey whispered so softly, so distantly, he wasn’t sure if she even heard herself.

“Rey, you can tell me anything, whenever you want, - let me carry it with you-”

“I don’t want to-” Rey shook her head miserably, and Poe groaned in his throat and took a step closer to her so they were less than a foot apart. His hand went quickly to his hair, his curls hanging in his face, heavy with the humidity of the pre-storm air, and Rey -

Rey flinched. Horribly. Her hand went to her face as though to stop him from -

Hand still tangled in his curls, Poe felt as though he’d been shot. “No,” he murmured weakly, “no, sweetheart, I’m not him - I’d never, ever-” he dragged his hand down slowly as he spoke, desperate for her to believe him.

“I should go,” Rey whispered, cheeks flushed now, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I should-”

“Sweetheart-”

“I-” She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek, and Poe was flayed alive at the sight of it. 

The window banged open startling them both; a wet wind whistled into the room, sweeping up the letters and kicking open books, as rain began to fall heavily at the edge of the property. Poe moved quickly to close and refasten the heavy window.

When he turned back around, Rey was gone - he could hear footfalls on the staircase, and then above him on the smaller upper floor of the cottage, and distantly, the sound of a door slamming shut. He stood and listened to the sound of Rey Solo disappearing, and when he was sure she wouldn’t return, he went to his room and shut the door and shut the world out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler-y warning: A "fight" between Poe and Rey occurs at the end of the chapter - more of Rey being very upset and Poe being confused, but still, things are shouted, intentions are misunderstood, Rey - already upset by a number of things in the chapter - loses her temper and shares many things she might not share normally (she's hot and tired and anxious and angry and grieving in her own way).
> 
> **End Note**  
>  SO That was a lot, and I'm very sorry. Originally, I had Rey angrily kissing Poe to stop him from asking questions and to change the topic, but I thought, gee, let's let their first kiss be different? So I re-wrote the entire end of this chapter twice and ended with this one. (It was a kiss originally, and it was - a lot - before the window banged open)
> 
> ANYWAY Next non-letter chapter, we see Poe and Rey working together to bring in the farm animals from the storm and then ... oh my, some developments. The tension might just break with this big ol' storm.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts, shoutings, and theories. A lot happened in this chapter!
> 
> Thank you as always for your continued, lovely, generous feedback. I appreciate it so, so much, and it's been so incredible to hear what you guys think, especially during these trying times.


	16. Letters: 1947, 1942, 1936, 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations of Luke Skywalker's whereabouts; a look into the courtship of Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso; a confession through a unique letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little different happens in this epistolary chapter - I hope you enjoy ;)
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  emotional abuse/cruelty in Ben's letter to Rey (no one will love you, etc)

(Personal Letter, February 1947)

_Rachel,_

_When will you admit the depth of my love for you? Do you doubt me so terribly, a year into our marriage? I do not understand how you can be unsure of how desperately, cravenly I love you. You made me love you - you, despite everything in the world that told me I shouldn’t, that insisted it wouldn’t work - you, a ferocious wild girl with more money than Midas, and I, a lamed beast of a man whose passion is still stirred by your presence. We are in love, Rachel. I know this. You know this._

_Why would you hurt me so, making me believe you would not love me - that you, who were so kind and good to me when no one else would (because we_ _understand_ _one another, are similar in a way no two souls could be similar, halves of each other), you of all people would turn your back on me, when the world has so often turned its back on you._

_No one could ever love you the way I do - why would you bring my anger so sharply into focus by denying the truth of your love for me, and worse, my love for you. It is because I love you that I do those things in the height of my passion. I am so afraid to lose you, my darling little wife. I would die without you. And yet, you can kill me with three words._

_Don’t say you don’t love me. Don’t turn me away again. We need each other - if you destroy me so callously, you might be surprised to find what else is destroyed._

_Your husband,_

_Ben Solo_

* * *

(Personal Letter, October 15, 1942)

_Ollie,_

_I discovered a heap of letters from you when I stopped at Oxford. You know I don’t frequent the office anymore - while I am still surprised that the Army wants me at excavation sites in the aftermath of battles, I do work at the behest of Uncle Sam now. I would much rather be in my tidy little office at Oxford replying to your letters, but I have only just returned from a little island in the Pacific Ocean._

_It was strangely cold there, with sweet little birds that hopped from rock to rock. You would have liked it there, Ollie. I wish I could have brought one back for our sweet Rey - she would have liked to have seen these little birds in their tuxedo finery._

_Hoping this letter finds you well, and that your cough has subsided. Jyn sent me a letter in the summer saying your health had drastically improved and you had taken in some folks from the city. I find myself thinking back to when I was a child, and you had taken me in for the summer and we looked at fossils together - I couldn’t even say your full name, so you let me call you “Obi,” and the nickname stuck, as did my affection for you and the passion for the subject to which you introduced me._

_My sister chides me more frequently than you, over the habits of my occupation and how one day I might find_ _myself_ _lost among lost civilizations and ruins, but it is a risk I am willing to take to discover ancient secrets and artifacts! It is exciting stuff Ollie, and I do miss you out in the field. I never thought a farmboy from Kansas could get to see so much of the world, and while it is hard to remain optimistic when I see the cruelty with which people are treating each others, I do think the world will heal itself - seeing layers of civilization helps me in that optimism. Mankind will prevail, and so will we, my old friend._

_I’m off with this letter’s posting - I’m needed somewhere in the world. I’ll come home as soon as I’m able._

_With love (and hugs for Rey!)_

_Luke Skywalker_

* * *

(Personal Letter, May 1936, translated from Spanish)

_Stardust,_

_I hope Scarif was not the end of us. When I held you on that beach, I knew I held the world. How could someone so small be so big, I wondered - have wondered, since our paths crossed years ago._

_Not hearing news from you is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because in our line of business, news of ourselves is the opposite of what we want. A curse because I want nothing more than to hold you again, without fear in my heart - so there is only room for love for you._

_I miss you terribly. I am studying medicine officially now, and the classes go well. I can’t help but let myself wonder if you would marry a doctor, as you would not marry an ~~agent~~ soldier. _

_With love, and with hope for the day where you will hold your arms open and it will be as though your heart has said welcome home to my heart,_

_Fulcrum_

* * *

Rey sat up in her bed, dabbing at her eyes and cursing her foolishness. Why had she run from him? She rationally knew it had been Poe in front of her - and she hated herself for losing her temper so fiercely - but it was as though she were five years younger, terrified, furious.

And it had passed, leaving her drained and exhausted not even an hour after their argument. The storm had held off once more, the rain keeping at low thrum, but the pressure in her temples told her it would soon begin in earnest - and all she could think about was how wretched Poe’s expression had been when she fled from him, had assumed the worst from him.

She stood from the bed, wiping her cheeks, and knelt to pull out the little velvet box that held every letter he’d given her. With shaking fingers, she held them, mouth trembling as she imagined strong, tanned hands writing the words hiding inside, writing with patient strokes to match the patience of the heart that created them.

Rey held them to her chest, the little bundle of letters, wishing fervently that it was Poe she was holding, and -

There was a creak on the landing, and Rey’s breath caught in her throat. Feeling like she had been caught, she tucked the letters back in their box and pushed them under the bed.

Footsteps approached her door, and she could see feet in the crack at the bottom - and then a hesitation. 

Poe did not knock, but she could hear him breathing lightly, could hear the floorboards creak and shift minutely under his weight. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him standing there, hand raised to the wood, doubt in his eyes, and most likely, in his hand, a letter.

She stood and walked to the door - she heard his breath catch and saw the limited shadow he cast through the bottom of the door shift. 

“I know you’re there.” Rey spoke softly, but it seemed thunderously loud over the quiet patter of rain. 

“Yeah.” Poe huffed a shy laugh. “Guilty.”

She smiled and put her hand to the door, too afraid to open it, lest she do something foolish like throw herself in his arms. 

“I- I came to-”

“Deliver a letter?” Rey guessed. She wouldn’t let him apologize, not when he’d done nothing wrong. He’d only wanted to help. She understood that logically, and he hadn’t done anything to defend himself past explanation and early apology.

“I- yeah.” Poe cleared his throat. “I know you won’t want to read it, but I - I had to say-”

“Read it.” Rey licked her lip and closed her eyes before her courage left her.

“...Pardon?”

“Read it,” she repeated, resting her forehead on the door and shaking her head at herself. “Out loud. Please.”

She couldn’t run from it when his gentle voice shared the words - she wouldn’t have the option to hide it, and her feelings for him, in a tidy little box under her bed.

“I … Alright.” Poe cleared his throat, and she heard him step closer to the door. She imagined his hand pressed to the wood where her own hand was, a connection that throbbed and hummed and soothed -

“Rey,” he began, and she heard him laugh at himself - she smiled too even as her heart ached. “I don’t know what to say to you half the time. And I’m a man who always knows what to say, and always speaks first. I - I find myself more and more at a loss for what to say or do, so I don’t give myself away, but - maybe I’m done searching for the right words. There won’t ever be right words where you’re concerned because … because every day I see more of you, and I learn more about you, and -”

She squeezed her eyes tighter shut to stop the strange tears that burned in her throat.

“-And the words I had for you shift, and grow, and - and I don’t know what to do about that, and it’s okay. Because there will never be words to contain you or … or how I feel about you. I - I know you’re hurting, and I’d never presume to know how much or in what ways, but - I meant what I said. I’m here, however you need. I’m here, and I don’t mind helping you. I’ve told you I don’t, but I’ll tell you a million times and show you however I can that I want to be here, with you.”

Rey put a hand to her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her breathing change or interrupt the spell he was weaving.

“No one in the wide world has any business at all bringing hurt to your door. Making you hurt. I - I don’t need to talk to you about that until you want to talk, but - you - don’t deserve it. You never did, and I hope you know that, but I wanted you to hear it, from someone who meant it. Because I see you.”

The wind howled out beyond the window, bringing the storm tilting inland once more, and it covered the small sob that escaped her lips.

“I see you, and-” his hand tapped against the wood, confirming that he was pressed to the door like she was, “and God, I wish you could see what I see. You’re a miracle, Rey Kenobi.” She sobbed out loud, and his own voice broke. “You’re a goddamn miracle, and I feel - I feel lucky to see you. You’re like … a meteor, blazing across the sky, not even aware that everything you do, everything you are, is beautiful and ... and wonderful.” 

He cleared his throat again, and Rey reached for the doorknob shakily - she’d kiss him the second it was open, she didn’t know what else to do because words were _his_ and she had always been driven by action, foolhardy or not -

“That’s it … I’ll … I’ll leave you alone now. Sincerely, ardently yours - Poe.” He laughed again, a wet sound now. 

She gripped the brass doorknob, steeling herself to chase after him down the corridor, but he spoke again after a ten second pause.

“P.S. …” He laughed again at himself, and she _felt_ him hover a foot away from the door, could see him in her mind, dragging a hand through his curls. What he said next stole her breath away as the lightning cracked dangerously outside. “P.S. In case you couldn’t tell - I’m in love with you.”

She threw the door open at that, and Poe looked up at her startled. His hands were -

Empty.

“Where’s the letter?” Rey demanded, her eyes searching his person. She hiccuped on her next breath and wiped her cheek. “Where’s - where is it?”

“There is no letter,” Poe said, his eyes red, mouth twisted up in what looked like grief. “Fuck, I’m-”

“Did you mean it?” Rey demanded, and Poe took a step towards her - she watched his throat move as he swallowed. “Did you mean what you said-”

“Every word.” Poe shook his head. “I - I didn’t know how to write it, that wasn’t a lie, but I meant it-”

She put a hand to her throat; “Oh.”

They both laughed a little, and Poe licked his lip. Rey tracked the movement, her stomach snarling with a hunger she hadn’t ever felt beyond a passing thing. 

“Poe?”

The wind picked up terribly - rain lashed against the windows once more, and thunder rattled the windows. He stiffened and looked over her shoulder to the bedroom window. “Rey - did you - did you bring in the-”

“Animals,” Rey gasped, whirling to look out at the horrible storm. “Oh God-”

“C’mon.” Poe took her hand and pulled her towards the stairs. “Let’s -”

She nodded and raced down to the back door with him; they threw on their coats and boots, and, hands still clasped, sprinted out into the downpour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UmmmMMMMMm I wonder WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN CHAPTER 17?!
> 
> Stay tuned and find out on Sunday ;) Taking bets, shouts, screaming, incoherent mumblings, theories, etc.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued encouragement and kind words. It means the world that you'd take the time to write comments/read this fic/leave kudos during such stressful times <3


	17. Shelter from the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the storm picks up outside Hope Cottage, Rey and Poe seek refuge from the rain - and with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLLLOOO
> 
> I promised something by 50,000 words, and we've hit that with this chapter. so. without further ado -
> 
> Let's Goooooooo
> 
>  **Warnings**  
>  Heavy making out  
> References to genitals! (Testicles/cock/etc)  
> Discussion of "blue balls"  
>  **biggest warning** Hints of Rey being misled/manipulated in her past sexual experience

Lightning cracked ominously overhead, and Rey brushed water from her eyes, searching in the growing darkness for any other sign of life. Gripping the edge of the barn, she scanned the yard, and then back to the barn -

“One two three,” she whispered through cold lips, “four five six seven eight - eight -” One chicken was missing.

The cow was already in the barn, courtesy of Poe, who’d rushed off into the rain before Rey could ask him who else was missing. Thunder rattled the door she held - it felt like it vibrated into her teeth, shaking her as well - and Rey fought back the urge to scream even as water dripped down her neck and through the collar of her shirt, soaking her and dousing the fire that Poe had stoked not even fifteen minutes ago.

“Poe!” She shouted as the rain picked up again - “Poe, where are you?” Shaking her head, she went back to the chickens. “Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight- _ ugh _ !” 

She heard a thrashing at the bracket to the side of the property, and she clutched the sodden collar of her dress, unsure of what she would do if a wild animal came sprinting towards the shelter of the barn or the cottage - the door of which was slightly ajar from their mad dash out here.

Rey watched the rustling of the branches, and then - Poe emerged, a familiar hen in his scratched-up arms, a hand covering her ruffled feathers.

“Where did you find-” Rey asked, strangely breathless at his reappearance. 

“Couldn’t leave a lady out there,” Poe said warmly, setting his Henrietta down among her sisters. They flapped their wings and she cooed as she settled against the wood shavings on the floor. Without stopping to smile at her, Poe grabbed a scoop of feed and scattered it for the girls, checked the water bucket and splashed some in a low container, and then patted the cow gently and made sure the hay was within reach. 

“Ready to go back in?” He asked her with a grin, brushing his hands off as he turned towards her. Poe had grass in his hair, mud all along his front and caking his boots, and water dripped from the scruff on his jaw. And he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“Of course.” Rey’s voice was drowned out by another almighty clap of thunder, and Poe waved at her to start running - she splashed through the yard, already wrestling with the laces of her boots when she looked back to see Poe fastening the side door of the barn (the one he himself had fixed) securely and testing it for good measure before he ran to join her as well. 

When Poe reached the back of the house, he untied his boots as well, stopping to help her with a knot clumped with mud, and they abandoned the boots right inside the door as they closed and locked it before shedding their coats. Both laughing breathlessly at the change in temperature and the exhilaration of the last quarter hour, Poe and Rey faced each other, bracing their hands against the wall.

Poe cleared his throat, aware of a shift between them. There had been many that day, and he was dizzy with it, dizzy with her - he swore he could smell the soap she used, slightly floral and clean, rising from her damp skin. He swallowed and tracked a drop of rainwater from her hair which curved around her temple and skimmed along her sharp-soft cheekbone.

Rey let go of the wall and stood up, smoothing her skirt out, but it was too heavy with water to move much. She laughed a little, an embarrassed sound this time, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion and probably some amount of shyness. That wouldn’t do.

“Lousy weather we’re having,” Poe said, making her smile for real, and nod this time.

“Not a day for a picnic,” Rey agreed, and Poe stood up straight as well, slowly pushing off the wall so that they were evenly matched again. 

Rey stood only an inch shorter than himself, but he could see the slimness of her, how she shivered from the rain, and his throat tightened at the same time his stomach flared with heat. He was in conflict: he wanted her out of those clothes so she wouldn’t catch cold; he wanted her out of those clothes so he could see in how many ways he could make Rey shiver. 

There was, as always, the matter of her mouth, the sweet bow of her lip, and now it was cherry-red from her biting it, standing against her skin, paled from the anxiety of the last fifteen minutes, her cheeks stained a similar crimson. Her hair was plastered to her neck and the sides of her lovely face, and her eyes were slightly wild as she examined him in turn. Poe took a step towards her, and they both shivered, their breath still uneven.

“You’ve got-” Poe reached out slowly to cup Rey’s cheek; with his thumb, he wiped a fleck of mud that had leapt to her high cheekbone. He stroked his thumb over her soft, damp skin more than he strictly needed to.

Rey swallowed, her spectacular eyes on his, and Poe felt himself drifting into her, both of them panting, chests heaving from the dash inside and maybe something  _ more  _ than that, skin heated from the weather before the storm broke.

“Rey,” he said, half-miserable with it. She shivered - no, trembled - and said nothing, her eyes seeming to beg him for something she might not have the words for. “Rey, I-”

What he wanted to say was lost in a rumble of thunder. Unlike the previous evening, it didn’t startle them apart.

Rey made a broken noise in her throat, a jagged noise of need, and Poe surrendered to her thrall with a groan of his own. They moved together to close the distance, the rain picking up tempo so it lashed at the windows louder than ever before, but Poe couldn’t hear it over Rey gasping when their mouths met.

She kissed near violently - her fists went to his chest even as he folded his hands carefully around her waist to keep her close. Her mouth fit like a bruise against his lips, close and hard and moving to match his with a thousand-fold intensity.

“Easy,” Poe whispered, pulling back from the kiss and lifting his hand to her face. Rey flinched from it, eyes closed, and there was another rumble of thunder that suspended the moment between them, Rey still trembling, eyes closed, and Poe with his hand mere centimetres from her lovely face. 

His heart pounded in his chest, each staccato a reminder of what had been done to her, here in this place that should have been her home, perhaps here in this very kitchen. His heartbeats shook him, one after the other, reminding him of her past even as he wanted so desperately for their future. He had a choice - stop now, retreat, and never feel her this way again; try again, if she were willing, try and make this a happier story. He had a choice; he made it.

“Hey,” Poe murmured, stroking her cheek gently, catching wet strands of hair that were plastered to her temple, pushing them behind her ear. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

Rey regarded him balefully, seeming to consider his statement before she nodded, leaning into his touch and turning her head back to him once more. When he covered her mouth with his this time, her hands went to his arms, clutching to the point of pain, almost as though she were half-shoving him away, half-pulling him in.

“No,” Poe said softly against her lips, his eyes still closed. “Not like that.” He shook his head and opened his eyes, shaking his head back and forth to drag his lips against hers with an agonizing slowness. “Never like that, love.”

“Oh,” Rey spoke with a quiet that nearly shouted. “ _ Poe _ -”

“I’m here,” he continued, dropping a gentle kiss to her mouth, “I’m yours.” A slightly harder kiss focused on her lower lip. “Let me be good to you, sweetheart. Let me-”

Rey relaxed in his arms somewhat, her hands smoothing out to rest against his chest, and their next kiss reflected a deeper sort of peace, no less passionate for how heat surged in his veins. This kiss lasted for unending seconds, Rey starting to match his tempo, her breath surging in as his surged out, a give and take that left them swaying against each other. 

They took a step together, Rey backwards and Poe forwards, and another, her hands greedy against the fabric of his shirt, stumbling until the breakfast table rattled; Rey tugged him in making desperate little gasps as his hips rocked against hers on accident.

“Beg your pardon,” Poe muttered, feeling something more than mortified, but Rey shook her head, standing on tiptoe to sit on the table, her sodden skirt twisted around her legs. She tugged him to her and kept kissing him, slightly shorter than before, giving Poe a better angle to run his tongue along the seam of her mouth, slipping in and drawing more gasps from her lovely throat.

“More,” she whispered into his mouth, moaning when he moved to kiss her jaw, licking the rainwater-salt taste from her skin, pressing more kisses to the top of the pretty column of her throat - feeling almost  _ mad  _ with it, the desire that seized him to make sure the only marks on her neck to ever appear again would be marks of love, given with her strict permission - “Oh -  _ Poe _ -” 

“I’m here.” He pulled back to lightly touch her cheek again. “I’m here, sweetheart, darling girl, babydoll-”

Her nose wrinkled as she laughed, a breathless sweet sound. “Maybe not that one.”

“Nah?” Poe laughed too, the sound catching as Rey grabbed his shirt and pulled it from where it was tucked into his pants. Her feet caught at the back of his legs and pulled him in more as he spoke. “Don’t wanna be my babydoll?”

“The sentiment might be there,” Rey said, shyly now, “But - maybe not the name itself?”

“Roger that, sweetheart,” Poe murmured, feeling drunk and twenty years old again, as he brought his lips to taste her again. He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her mouth. “Fuck, you taste - so sweet, sugar.”

“I don’t see  _ how  _ that’s possible-” Rey began, but Poe took a risk and added -

“Wanna see how the rest of you tastes.”

Rey swallowed a moan back, and Poe grinned at her, his eyes hooded as he ran his hands up and down her bare arms, both of them a sodden mess: grinned, feeling self-satisfied, until Rey - terrifyingly strong as she was - ripped that smugness clear away when she grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him down to her, leaning back until his aching arousal pressed against her through the fabric of their storm-dampened clothing.

“Shit,” Poe said drowsily, rolling his hips - he couldn’t precisely feel much in this state, but Rey seemed pleased, shifting herself to try and get nearer to him.

Poe rocked against her, rattling the table thoroughly, unerring in his aim as he dragged the tented front of his trousers against her - Rey arched her back prettily and moaned, her lips a perfect shade of bitten-pink.

“Not here,” she gasped, making him pause and pull back. “Not - bed, I want - let’s go to bed, Poe,  _ please-’ _

“Sweetheart.” He pulled her to him to kiss her one last time. “You don’t have to say  _ please  _ to me - wanna make you feel good. It’s not - it’s not a battle with me, darling girl, it’s anything you want-”

“I want you,” Rey said bluntly, “So  _ fuck _ me.”

Poe growled, heat flooding his veins and dispeling any of his previous chill from the rain. He pulled her by the hand towards the front of the house; he wrenched the door of the library open and continued through to the side bedroom, abandoning the books and letters that were still sitting out from their fight earlier. When he’d pulled her into his room, Rey surged against him, like waves against the cliffs with how quickly and powerfully she crashed into him, and Poe was helpless to her.

When she broke away from the kiss with a gasp, he saw her cold fingers fumbling with the buttons of her dress; Poe cleared his throat, “May I?” thrilled when she nodded, dropping her hands at her sides. He pushed the buttons through the fabric near reverently, his hands shaking so that he had to try twice here and there, but soon he had reached the bottom of the row. 

Rey, meanwhile, had begun to unbutton his shirt, and pushed it down his arms; he moved to help her pull it clear from his body, and now was only in his undershirt, which clung to his stomach. Rey looked at him with hunger in her gaze, and although Poe had gone to bed with women in the past, he felt a hundred feet tall to have Rey look at him like this. He felt powerful, and yet humbled in her gaze, and he wanted - oh, he wanted  _ her  _ to feel wanted.

“Beautiful,” he said, his fingers skimming along the open front of her dress. Where the fabric gapped, he could see the translucent silk of her undergarment, smooth and wet and - he swallowed harshly before meeting her eyes, hoping what he felt was translated there. “You’re so beautiful.”

Rey tugged at the sleeves of her dress in answer, and it fell to the floor in a pool of wet fabric around her ankles. And of course, she really was beautiful, like Aphrodite emerging from the waves, or Dian in her orb - Poe felt every inch of his body respond to her proximity, the moon-pale strip of skin above her chemise, the way the thin fabric clung to the breadth of her hips. 

He looked down at himself as Rey pulled his belt free, wondering how this was happening, and then - he saw his hands and winced.

“I need to wash up,” Poe said hoarsely. “God, I have-” He laughed at the mud speckling his hands even as he felt horror at putting those hands on Rey’s body.

“We don’t have to stop,” Rey said, her voice strangely nervous as she had finally slipped the top button of his pants free, and Poe looked up at her, incredulous.

“I’ll still want you after I’m clean,” he said with a smile. “I want this to be - I want it to be good for you, and - I don’t want to get-” He cleared his throat, his face flaming at where his mind went.

Rey turned pink, flushing all the way to the top of her chemise - he tried not to think about it so he wouldn’t start kissing her wildly again, in his effort to see how far down her blush went - and then nodded. “Right, of course - I’ll - I’ll wash up, too?”

They jostled each other slightly, scrubbing their hands in the sink of the small toilet to the side of the room, and Rey laughed nervously when Poe smirked over at her. He kissed her bare shoulder as he scraped the soap suds from his wrist, and Rey gasped, before leaning over and kissing him bitingly on the upper arm, her small teeth slightly dipping against his skin.

“Not fair,” Poe rasped, turning off the water and grabbing the towel. “That’s not fair-”

“No, it isn’t,” Rey agreed, her smile brighter than he’d seen it. “But clearly you haven’t seen yourself, or you wouldn’t be trying to tell me what’s fair.”

Laughing softly, Poe wrapped his now-clean, dried hands around her small waist and hauled her in for another kiss. They swayed against each other before Rey pushed him towards the door, not harshly like she had tried in the kitchen, but tentatively, as though she were trying out teasing.

“I was promised a bed, Mr. Dameron,” She said haughtily.

“Very well, Ms. Kenobi,” Poe countered, and her eyes shifted to a region of heartbreak he almost regretted before her lips were on his again.

They fumbled their way to the bed, almost tripping over the abandoned piles of clothing that now littered the floor, Rey tugging on the top of his pants until they were also on the floor, and when they sank against the mattress, it was Poe who was underneath Rey, whose legs wound up on either side of his legs.

“Oh!” Rey pulled back, a hand over her mouth, “I’m so - I didn’t mean - what you must think of me-”

Poe rocked his hips up slightly, needing friction, needing her, and Rey’s apology cut off with a whine as her hand curled into fists on his chest.

“I’m thinking,” he said, gravel in his voice as he rolled his hips again and Rey somewhat collapsed against his chest, her weight almost negligible, “that I like the view from down here, ma’am.”

Rey smiled and hovered over him, her lips a half-inch from his, tantalizing and tempting, but she pulled back ever-so-slightly when he tried to tilt his chin up for a kiss. “I thought I told you to stop calling me ma’am.”

He laughed into the kiss she finally bestowed on him, and he kept his hands at the curve of her waist, even as undeniable heat built up between them. Rey, for her part, kept her hands tangled in his hair. 

“Oh.” She broke away from him, blushing, after they had kissed lazily for unbroken moments, trading gasps and mapping out each other’s tells. “Oh, I - you must - oh, you poor thing.”

“I have no idea how you can find pity for me in this moment,” Poe said wryly, skimming his hands along her sides. “Considering my current situation.”

“I am considering your current-” Rey broke up, looking oddly guilty, and Poe frowned, sitting up slightly on his elbows as she leaned back. And then she sat back, her lithe frame positioned entirely above his throbbing -

“Oh.” Poe forced his hips not to jerk upright. “Um. Yes. That is. Something.”

He had not thought this far - yes, Rey had asked him to, back in the kitchen, but honestly, he had been so caught up in the thrill of kissing her, he’d forgotten Rey had brought him here precisely to have him inside her - the thought then nearly made him black out for a moment.

His hand trembled now as he traced the silk along her thigh.

“I have protection,” he said softly, eyeing his luggage. “I can get it, but I don’t - we don’t have to-”

“You’ve been in this state for - for so long,” Rey continued, almost as though she hadn't heard him. 

Where she had been astride him like Athena post-victory earlier, now her shoulders slumped, and her skin grew pale again, her eyes wide and distant as she thought through something.

“You’re being so patient with me,” Rey said with a more genuine smile now, and Poe smiled back, confused. He would always be patient with her - hadn’t he made that clear? Not clear enough, then. He opened his mouth to say so, but Rey spoke again. “I’ll take care of it.” Her hand went blindly to his swollen cock, gripping it over his boxer-briefs, and Poe swallowed a shout at the unexpected shock of pleasure.

Then her words caught up to him.

“Take care of it?” He repeated weakly. “It’s - it’s not a kitten, sweetheart, it’ll be fine down there on its own-”

“But it must hurt,” Rey said, frowning. “I’ve teased you so much-”

“Teased,” Poe repeated, coming out of the stupor because her hand was  _ still on his cock.  _ He reached out slowly and touched her arm that curved backwards to hold him, frowning because that position must be uncomfortable. “Sweetheart - it - it doesn’t hurt at all.”

He was almost entirely sure the roof could fall on him at this point, and he wouldn't feel any pain.

Thunder rumbled outside as Rey studied his face, disbelief in her expression. “It hurts men, the longer you go without your - your” she stumbled over a word, “pleasure.”

“This - this  _ is _ pleasurable,” Poe said gently. “Rey - what are you talking about?”

Rey stared down at him, confused, before her expression crumbled. She let go of him and covered her face with both hands. “You don’t have to be so gentle - I was a married woman,” she whispered, “I know that men’s bodies are - they need the release, it hurts your - your - testicles.” She dropped her hands, her chin set and eyes determined. “To not have your pleasure.”

“That-” Poe licked his bottom lip, knowing he shouldn’t say  _ is a load of bullshit  _ because he didn’t want her thinking he thought she was silly or stupid, “Someone lied to you, sweetheart.” He touched her knee, which was trembling and probably for a bad reason. “Nothing at all happens if I don’t - if men were killed by unfulfilled erections, I would have been dead by nineteen.”

Rey snorted despite the growing comprehension on her face, and then looked down at him. Her shoulders were shaking now, and Poe hummed before pulling her down to him, taking her forearms and pulling gently, more of the idea of a direction than a commanding force, and Rey leaned down as well.

“This,” he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head as he felt her settle against his body, the contours of her frame fitting his so well. “This is pleasure to me. This is good, sweetheart. This and nothing else would be - it would be perfect because it’s you.”

Rey sniffled slightly, and Poe kissed the top of her head, staring at the ceiling as she shook against him, wondering how many times he would wish for her husband to still be alive so he could personally push him into the ocean himself.

Pushing the violence of that thought away, Poe kissed Rey’s forehead tenderly when she turned her face towards him, moving her slightly so he could roll them, slowly, to be on their sides, so he could kiss her freely without obstacle, but still hold her.

Rey stopped shaking after a few minutes of easy, slow kissing, and he sat up only once to pull the quilt from the end of the bed and unfold it, draping it over their cooling bodies so they could stay warm as the storm continued to rage outside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING
> 
> I WONDER what they'll do ... in the next chapter ....
> 
> I might pick up the schedule on this if you guys think that's okay? Shift to Sunday/Wednesday narratives and Monday/Thursday letters? Thoughts? We are ... well we're a bit into the outline now, and ... well things will happen quickly after this. 
> 
> thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos and screamings and theories. It means the world <3 <3 <3 <3 and is super encouraging. Let me know what you thought of Rey and Poe's first kiss!


	18. Letters: Family and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters between loved ones across the years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT here we are, picking up the publishing schedule (also because I'm going to start publishing the Firefighter AU on Friday, whaaaaaa?)
> 
> Ahem. Without further ado, here is the next "letters" chapter, a few days early ;)

* * *

(Personal Letter, September 1, 1949 - postmarked to J. Erso of Dover)

_ Rey, _

_ I have at long last received our friend Jyn’s correspondence. My main regret is that I was not here to receive it in a more timely manner: nothing in this world or beyond it could excuse my nephew’s behavior. _

_ Your marriage to my nephew came as a shock to me - he disavowed me, my sister, and his father some fifteen years ago when he came into the mentorship of one Reginald Snoke. I never spoke to you of his existence because he had thrown off his old one - only keeping the name of his father to open doors in nefarious places - and you were so young, and so bright, and so kind. I regret that my pride - and shame in my inability to help Benjamin turn from the darkness that lurks in our lineage - stopped me from telling you of him sooner, so that I might have spared you what I fear has happened from Jyn’s correspondence. _

_ I knew him as a child, and while he was moody, he hadn’t been prone to much more than outbursts of shouting here and there - but, as is often the case in our family, that temper has clearly turned to something more sinister. You should, in no way, blame yourself for his fall, nor take responsibility for his actions. _

_ Bodhi has informed me of the precarious financial situation you find yourself in; I understand that the reality of it has stopped you from leaving, or perhaps, a loyalty to my nephew has been an obstacle. Let me throw my voice in among those who shout that your loyalty at the present moment must be to  _ _ yourself, _ _ and if you would deny that logic, please, place your loyalty in myself and Jyn and Cassian and all those who would help you. _

_ There will be more in the coming days from Jyn, to whom I have entrusted this letter, as she informs me letters addressed to you direct at the post office might never find their way to your hands. I trust this is the reason for your silence in response to my own letters (although regrettably sparse given my working conditions) and my sister’s letters, who has oft tried to communicate with you during the past three years. _

_ Many wish to help you. If you seek a new destiny, a new life, you need only ask our dear friend Jyn, and we will make it possible for you. _

_ With love and regret more than you could know, _

_ Your friend, Luke _

* * *

(Letter, Undelivered, August 1948)

_ Dear Rachel, _

_ My son Ben informed me that you are too ill to attend our meeting in London. I hope to one day meet you in a manner more than passing.  _

_ He tells me that he hopes you will soon have children - although I understand you are young, younger than I was when I married my husband and had Ben, so please, dear, do not feel pressure to procreate so soon! I have been unable to speak to you in person and while I know my son can be … passionate about the things he wants, know that you have my full understanding if this does not happen soon. _

_ I am writing to you for two reasons, I must confess. My husband, Han, is very ill. You have never met him, and my son has refused to meet with him in years. While Han and I have had our differences, we have reconciled, and I would so love for him to do the same with his son - and to meet his daughter-in-law, who I am sure he will love for all the wonderful things I heard about you from my brother, who - I hear you were shocked to discover - has known you since you were small. _

_ Please, use whatever influence you might have over my son to speak to him of visiting with Han while we are in England. We will be here for the duration of his illness, however it ends. The doctors say he is too ill to move, and that his stomach cancer seems to be killing him faster than a poison … _

_ Thank you for reading this letter, dear Rachel, and I look forward to your response. _

_ With fond hope, _

_ Leia Organa-Solo _

* * *

(Personal Letter, June 27, 1951)

_ Rey, _

_ My sweetheart, my darling, my only - _

_ I have no words. None. I’m out of them.  _

_ How can I ever write anything more beautiful than your kiss? _

_ Love, _

_ Poe _

* * *

(Personal Letter, October 5, 1951)

_ My darling Poe, _

_ I was such a fool. I see that now - I see everything more clearly now. _

_ Please tell me it is not too late. Tell me time and distance and illness has not wiped your memory clear of me - _

_ I was a fool not to say it then, and I’d be a fool now to diminish it and put it to paper, but I’m still so  _ _ afraid _ _. I am more afraid now that I have not heard from you in weeks and I am sorrier than you could ever know, please forgive me. _

_ You always said I was strong, but without you - the world keeps spinning and the leaves have fallen and the sea has turned grey and the wind grows bitter. The seasons have the gall to move forward when I am trapped, trapped in that perfect summer where nothing could touch us, and my fear had not yet ruined our happiness - _

_ Please, write me soon. I’ve kissed this letter a hundred times - the post officer must find me a lunatic - and nothing could replace what it is to kiss you. Please, write me, and tell me it is not too late. _

_ Yours, completely, _

_ Rey Kenobi _

* * *

(E-mail, May 4, 2015)

_ Jack: _

_ Come back to Dover soon. Nana keeps talking about a storm and it hasn’t rained in days. Mom and I are worried about her - she hasn’t been the same since Táta and Abuela died. When she isn’t asking about the weather she keeps staring into space and when I asked her about it, she asked me if I thought “he’d gotten the letter yet.” _

_ Uhhhhh - What letter?  _

_ I’m going to go through the boxes of stuff she keeps in the attic. It feels pretty shitty to go through them without her permission, but it’s what Abuela would have done, and she was Nana’s daughter. Right? _

_ (Tell me I’m not being a bitch, please and thank) _

_ Anyway. Miss you a lot down here, and Nana misses you too. Don’t think this can wait until her 90th this fall. _

_ Love you a lot dorkus, _

_ Resa _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmmmmmwwwhhhaaaaaa????
> 
> (i'd love to hear what you think, and thank you to those who said they'd be fine if I picked up the posting dates on these!! Sorry if it throws anyone off, meep, and a massive thank you in general to everyone who's sent their encouragement via comments and kudoses and bookmarks and messages etc)
> 
> New posting schedule: Sunday (narrative), Monday (letters), Wednesday (Narrative), Thursday, (letters)
> 
> (Fridays, Firefighter/Nurse Romance Novel !?!?!!)


	19. An Intimate Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey share a meal after they share their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO and welcome AGAIN to our new posting schedule
> 
> If you missed it, I posted a "letters" chapter on MONDAY, April 27! Please do read that chapter before reading this one.
> 
> This chapter doesn't have much in the way of 'negative' warnings, per se  
> but uh  
> Poe *does* use sexually explicit language(/slang for female genitalia), and the two candidly discuss sex and desire and Rey is .... just super horny the whole damn time (can we blame her?!)
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 19?

Poe’s eyes were closed.

Rey studied his face in the limited light slipping through the window as rain continued to patter on the roof of the small house. His arm was warm slung over her, and when she would shift slightly, he would make a soft noise and move towards her, his nose sometimes brushing hers, his lips miscalculating kisses and landing on her jaw. 

When she brought her fingers to his cheek to feel his stubble again, she felt the muscles of his face work as he smiled, eyes still closed.

Distantly, thunder rumbled, and Rey had a feeling more storms were coming - it was hard to summon a concern here in the warmth of Poe’s bed, her dress abandoned on the floor, her hair drying into frizzy waves over a pillow who smelled like a man who wasn’t her h--

Rey swallowed. Her mind would not go there. She would not let it.

She let her fingers skate along Poe’s jaw then, to the plush fullness of his lower lip, and Poe made another noise in his throat, slightly rougher now. Rey felt a giggle build in her chest but suppressed it, not wanting to stop the peace of the moment with a loud outburst while she skimmed his lips with her fingers.

“You smiling?” Poe mumbled, cracking an eye slightly as lightning flashed across the rapidly darkening sky. “Hmm. Yeah.” He closed his eye again, and pressed his palm to the small of her back, pulling her in as he rolled towards her. “This is nice.”

Rey’s stomach curled slightly with hunger, and she smiled before realizing neither had eaten in several hours. “Are you hungry?” She asked a minute later when her stomach grew near audible in its discontent.

“A little.” Poe shrugged and nuzzled his face into his pillow; he looked remarkably like Bea with that movement, and Rey smiled again. “You?”

“A little,” Rey said, which was only slightly a lie. She started to move out from the bed, and Poe huffed, cracking an eye again.

“Where are you going?”

“To get us some dinner-”

“No.” She froze, worried she had infuriated him, but Poe’s face was still soft, relaxed - he smiled at her, his eyes open and sweet as he pulled her back with gentle hands. “No, sweetheart, if you go, I can’t hold you-”

“You can hold me after we eat-”

Poe pouted, an expression that was entirely too endearing for it being on the face of a fully grown man. “While we eat?” He asked. 

Rey thought about it. “That sounds - acceptable.”

“I aim to be acceptable.” He hummed, a satisfied noise, and nestled back down against the pillows, his hand on the limited curve of her waist. Rey shifted again, intending to slide out - mortified at the thought of picking up her crumbled, wet, filthy dress from the floor so she could go to the kitchen - and Poe opened his eyes again, frowning.

“Why are you leaving?”

“To get us food,” Rey repeated, snorting a little. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and was surprised when he immediately moved his arm. He sighed though.

“Can we - can we lay here a little longer?” Poe asked, his voice a different sort of soft now. “Can we exist a moment more, together, without complication?”

Rey considered this and frowned. “Food is a complication?”

“No.” Poe shook his head, smiling a little, and then stilled, studying her face. “Yes.”

“It’s a complication I can live with.” Rey softened her words with a soft brush of her fingers against his hair - now that it was dry, she found his curly hair to be wonderfully soft, thick and luxurious in her hands. Her face heated at a thought, and she pushed onward to say, “A complication we actually  _ need  _ to live-”

“You make excellent points as always.” Poe caught her wrist as she pulled her arm back to herself; he brushed his lips over her fingers and smiled into her palm when she sucked in a breath. “But I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.” 

Poe kissed her then, at the corner of her mouth, with none of the consuming fire he’d nearly devoured her with earlier. “Want to.”

“Alright.” Rey slid out of bed, chilled by the air. Again, thunder rolled in off the sea and rattled some distant fixture in the house. She looked at her dress for a moment, not liking the idea of wearing it at all, but Poe surprised her.

“Here.” He dug through his dresser and handed her a soft sweater. “My dad made it,” he said with a grin when she took it, running her hands over the material. “He keeps alpacas.”

“Alpacas?” Rey repeated incredulously, her feet cold even through her stockings. “That’s not a real animal.”

“They’re like llamas, only way nicer-”

“Llamas?” Rey summoned a memory of a picture of such a creature. “They’re mean?”

Poe grinned and pulled out a new shirt - she was strangely pleased when he neglected to put on pants - and buttoned it. “Mean as sin.” 

She realized he was waiting for her to put the sweater on, but her slip was starting to grow uncomfortable in the cooler air outside the bed, clinging to her awkwardly.

“I have to-” Rey hesitated, and Poe smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be out here.” He walked through the door of his own room and closed it behind him. Rey stared at the closed door for a minute, shocked at how quickly he’d allowed her privacy (when he had seen so much of her already, when he knew that if he had not stopped it, they would have known each other in the most physical sense of the word).

Rey changed quickly, smiling at how the sweater hung to cover her bottom. She thought about stealing a pair of pants, but instead took a large breath, summoned more courage, and marched out to the study. 

Poe was not there, and she continued on into the main part of the house; hearing him in the kitchen, Rey walked quietly and saw him cutting a loaf of bread at the table, some cheese and hard meat already pulled from the larder. 

“Shit.” He startled when he saw her, but luckily was holding the knife away from his body. Rey smiled shyly at him, wondering if he would question her state of undress, but Poe only smiled brilliantly in return. “I was going to bring you some sustenance.”

“Sustenance,” Rey slipped into a chair and examined the small spread on the table. “In bed? That sounds far too indulgent.”

“Not too indulgent if it keeps you in my-” Poe turned bright red and stopped talking. He sank into the chair and smiled guiltily. “Sorry, so sorry.”

“Sorry for flirting?” Rey felt strangely coy in a way she hadn’t since she was seventeen years old. That was only nine years ago, but it felt like several lifetimes most days: but here, in the soft lamplight with the rain still falling outside the house, Poe blushing and still cutting the food into manageable pieces, Rey felt that youthful carelessness closer to her than ever.

But maybe not quite careless. 

Her eyes caught on his hands as he worked, studying the thickness of his fingers, his blunt nails and defined callouses - she studied his expression, which relaxed under her scrutiny, and the wrinkles around his eyes, which deepened as he smiled. Something welled up inside her, something great and terrible and unnamed (named, if she’d let it be named), and for a long moment, she forgot her original hunger.

Not careless at all then.

Poe stood to set the knife back in its place, and when he settled down across from her, she saw that there were already mugs out, full of sweet, dark wine. 

“I thought you didn’t drink?” She asked curiously, picking up her mug and sniffing it.

“No, not usually, only I felt that I shouldn’t go out to the well at this particular moment.” As though to underscore his point, thunder sounded again. 

“I suppose not.”

They ate quietly, Poe relaxed in his chair, hair tousled from their earlier activities. Their eyes met here and there, and they would smile at each other around bites of their humble dinner, which filled her up remarkably well for its simplicity. Poe ate more quickly than she did, a rarity for the polite man, and he wiped crumbs from his hands and seemed to stare at her more frequently as she finished her portion of the meal.

“Do I have something on my face?” Rey asked warily when he stared at her a tenth time.

He shook his head. “No.” She saw his knee bouncing. “Only, I-”

“Only you what?”

“Only I - I might be waiting for you to finish so that I might be able to…” Poe hung his head in clear embarrassment, and she heard him add, “kiss you.”

“Hmm.” Rey considered this, wiping a thumb at the corner of her mouth. She sipped from her wine and set it down, glad for the warmth it brought to her veins, glad that neither of them had enough to drink that would in anyway change their temperments. “Hmm.”

Poe looked at her nervously, and she remembered suddenly how sad he’d seemed when they’d gotten out of bed the first time. Almost as though he were afraid that - 

That they wouldn’t do anything like it again.

He hadn’t kissed her since they rose from their small rest - Rey put the pieces together quickly and realized he must be waiting for her signal. Strange. She was not in any way used to men waiting for her signal for them to express their desires, carnal or otherwise.

Hoping she wasn’t wrong, Rey set her mug down and leaned towards him, her elbow on the table despite the years of etiquette Ben had tried to instill in her for society dinners.

“You may.” 

Poe’s expression went from nervous to joyful so quickly, Rey thought that perhaps she  _ did  _ feel intoxicated that evening - only, from Poe, and not from wine.

“I may  _ what _ ?”

Oh. Poe Dameron - good-tempered, kind, sturdy, brave Poe Dameron - liked to  _ tease. _

Rey didn’t think she hated it at all.

“You can kiss me.”

She arched her brow triumphantly at his expression of surprise (maybe he was expecting her continued shyness), but it quickly shifted to something happier as he leaned in to kiss her back.

His hand was warm on her knee when he reached over to touch it slowly, and Rey gasped into the kiss, the innocent touch sending heat to her core, but Poe pulled away, clearly worried he’d upset her.

“Sorry, that was forward of me-”

“You could be more forward,” Rey said stubbornly, wanting to chase that heat through her body again. She needed his hands on her to do so. “I did tell you I wanted you to fuck me.”

Poe made a strangled noise in his throat, and Rey smirked at him, feeling almost combative in her boldness. “Are you surprised to hear it?”

“A little, considering I had thought you’d put me outside for even kissing you a week ago,” Poe pointed out hoarsely, his eyes cloudy with what she realized was lust. 

His eyes darted down to her mouth, and he licked his bottom lip; it caused an odd jealousy in her. She wanted to be the one to do that.

Poe kissed her again a moment later, his hand on her jaw, and she was able to act on that instinct. The moan that slipped between Poe’s lips and tumbled into her open mouth was a thrilling experience, and she laughed breathlessly - but Poe clearly took that as an invitation, and licked into her mouth as though chasing the sound, and it was her turn to moan.

“Do you -” Rey hated herself for asking, but she did, and the moment she spoke, Poe pulled away to look at her fully, his hand still in place. She cleared her throat and made herself finish the question. “Do you want me, too?”

_ Weak. Foolish girl. Lonely. All alone, with no one to - _

“Rey.” Poe sounded wrecked. He examined her face anew, with a sense of desperation now as he leaned in again. “Sweetheart - you - you felt how I want you.” He rested his forehead against hers, and they both closed their eyes and pressed closer together. His hand returned to her knee, and this time, he gripped more tightly, his thumb pressed into the softness of her flesh so that her mouth ran dry.

“You know I want you,” Poe said again, voice so low he could be whispering. In the quiet of the kitchen, with no one around for miles, it was deafening, and her veins flooded again with heat. “So badly. I - I blush to think what you would think of me if you had read that last letter.”

She thought, briefly, to his confession in the hallway, the one she thought would follow her to her grave, but then remembered the last letter, delivered before the storm had broken.

“What was in it?” Rey asked, curious to the last. 

Poe kissed her nose, a sweet gesture that made her wrinkle her face in near embarrassment, before he pulled away. 

His hand stayed on her knee.

She tried very much not to think about it.

“I thought I had sent you a letter that more or less confessed to you what you know now.” With his free hand, Poe took hers off the table and kissed it, his lips moulding to each knuckle before he continued talking.

Funny. Rey had never considered hands to be erogenous, but as Poe glanced up at her under his lashes, her core throbbed and breath trembled at the surge of lust.

“What do I know now?” She would be embarrassed for how breathy she sounded.

“You know that I love you,” Poe answered steadily, now holding her hand and brushing his thumb back and forth. Her face flaming, Rey looked to where their hands were linked, thinking it was safer than the open honesty in his eyes. Touch was easier than truth in that moment. “In the letter, I told you that I’d do anything for you, to give you happiness. A better story.”

“A story,” Rey tried to laugh it off, but the noise came out wrong. “My story has been fine-”

“I want you to have a love that is worthy of you.” Poe leaned in, and she felt his eyes on the side of her face as surely as she would feel an open flame. Still she did not look up. “I - if you let me, I want to try and be that love.” She said nothing, until he asked, “Will you let me try?”

Rey looked up, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear, but she found the strength to nod. “Yes.” She nodded again, wondering why tears stung at her eyes. “Yes, I - I want to try, too.”

She wanted to be good for him, in a different way she had been good for her husband. That was a desire to be  _ good  _ to avoid consequence. This was something entirely new: she wanted to make him happy, not because she feared his frown, but because she loved his smile.

She might even love-

“But I sent you a different letter.” Poe squeezed his eyes shut. He was embarrassed. “The one I sent you, it was-”

“Erotic?” Rey guessed, cheeks flushing at how she had assumed - and Jyn, too - the nature of his letters in the past. 

Poe waved his hand back and forth as though to say  _ a little. _

“How many letters of that nature have you sent me?” Rey was more curious and amused than offended. She actually wasn’t offended at all - but, she found herself thinking that she might read them in the privacy of her room if Poe did  _ not  _ follow through with her request.

“Just the one.” Poe moved his hand away from hers to cover his face, and Rey cooed at him, a sound she had made all of never in her life before.

“What did it say?” She asked when he lowered his hand.

“I … commented on the weather.” Not very erotic then. “And contemplated … you.”

“You contemplated me?”

“My feelings for you.” 

Poe’s eyes were on her again, and she was slightly overwhelmed with the knowledge that as someone ten years her senior, who was as beautiful and well-traveled as he was, was certainly more experienced in this that she was. The idea did little to mortify her or quell the lust burning low in her stomach. It enticed her. It soothed her too, to know that he would know how to proceed.

“I confessed how badly I wanted to taste you.”

Rey felt herself heat more at the words. “Well, now you have,” she said faintly, biting her lip for a moment as she tried to gain control of her senses. Poe’s eyes followed the movement hungrily, and she swore he moved forward in his seat. 

“I have?”

“Yes, we- we kissed, and you t-tasted me-” she blushed tremendously, and Poe laughed, a low, rough noise not terribly similar to the bright laughter she heard from him when it wasn’t storming, and she wasn’t half-naked, and they hadn’t spent the better part of an hour almost as close as physically possible.

“That isn’t what I meant, sweetheart.” Poe’s eyes traveled down to her bare legs, and then back up the length of her torso. Rey shivered, wondering how his gaze could feel more potent than most men’s touch. “I want to know how you taste. All of you.”

“O-oh.” Rey felt her leg tremble under his touch, and she laughed to dispel the heaviness settling over them. “What would that entail?”

Always that damnable curiosity. It so often got her in trouble.

“In a perfect world?” Poe clearly was cut from the same cloth as she was - jump first, question later. “Spreading you out on this table, and kissing your-” Poe breathed out raggedly, and his hand spasmed slightly on her leg.

Now Rey needed to know. “Kissing my-”  _ Breasts? Stomach? Back?  _

“It isn’t a word I should say to a lady,” Poe began, but Rey tossed her hair back and nearly glared at him.

“If you intend to  _ do  _ it to me, surely you can  _ say  _ it to me-”

“I want to kiss your cunt,” Poe said bluntly, and Rey stared at him, shocked now. “I want to kiss you  _ there,  _ where you’re hot, and sweet, and wet, and make you wetter still.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear when she did not answer, still mulling it over in her mind; Poe’s affect was immediately apologetic. “I said I was afraid my rough language would hurt your sensibilities,” he began.

“My sensibilities are  _ fine,  _ thank you very much,” Rey declared haughtily, still blushing. “I’m only considering the - the logistics.”

“The logistics?” Poe repeated, an amused half-smile spreading across his ludicrously handsome face.

It was hard to scowl at him when he was that -  _ ugh.  _

“Yes, the logistics.” Rey sniffed at his smirk. “You don’t need to be so  _ difficult  _ about it-”

“Difficult, huh-”

“Yes,  _ difficult  _ \- I’ve only never considered such an arrangement, and was merely considering the -” Rey cast about for the correct term and landed on, “positioning.”

“Positioning?” Poe’s smile was slightly less now, more considering. “Sweetheart, have you never - has no one ever-”

“No.” Rey said the word in a way that would allow for no explanation at this point.

She could feel the scars of everything still, festering somewhere deep under the strange, dream-like lust that had settled over her, both comforting and stultifying as she discussed sexual relations so frankly with a man she had only known for two months. And there, among the scars and wounds, Rey felt the desire to  _ tell  _ him, to share the burden as he’d urged her only that afternoon - and how had it been only hours since that conversation - but found the fear still lingering and stopping the words from coming.

Luckily, Poe did not push her to explain. Instead, his eyes darkened, something that made her stomach flutter. 

“I’d like to,” Poe said, voice filled with gravel again. His thumb stirred circles against her flesh, dizzy and heated and strangely comforting. “I’d very much like to, sweetheart.”

“Right - right now?” Rey asked, looking around the kitchen it its current state of mess, the mud on the floor, dinner still on the table.

“As much as I’d like to spread you out on this table and lick into you until the word you know is my name-”  _ how on earth was he so calm and steady saying those words when Rey would combust in moments  _ \- “I need to clean up in here, and also, you should be relaxed for it to feel good.”

Poe examined the sturdy oak of the table and tapped it thoughtfully. “But soon, I would like to do ... exactly that.”

“Oh.” Rey’s brain felt as though it were full of mud, but her body was still alive, on fire with his words.

“Do you wanna go to bed, sweetheart?” Poe murmured, his eyes hooded as he covered her hands with his. “I can help you relax?”

Rey nodded quickly, and Poe chuckled again before ducking his head to kiss her hands. He released her and stood, tucking one last strand of hair behind her ear, and cupping her cheek with his hands. Rey felt the few inches of her proximity to the  _ definite  _ outline of his manhood when he stood, and felt her flush deepen for how interested she was in the size and shape of it.

“I’ll meet you there,” Poe promised. “I’ll clean up here and join you.”

“Your room?” Rey asked quietly, standing and fiddling with the hem of the too large sweater, aware of the impropriety of her dress - and not caring, given the promises he’d made to her. “Or - or mine?”

“Your choice.” Poe’s smile was sweet again, and he began to clear the table. “I’ll figure it out when I’m done.”

“Okay.” Rey moved to walk past him, and Poe turned his head, smiling - she caught his cheek in a kiss, and felt his smile grow under her lips.

Feeling triumphant, she slipped out of the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder to watch him begin to clean in earnest, and then she nearly ran up the stairs to her room, to prepare both the space and herself for his visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MEEEEEP
> 
> Another "Letters" chapter posts tomorrow, if you all still like the new posting schedule! I hope I don't lose too many people as this grows more "mature" - they'll definitely have sex VERY SOON with lots of consent and foreplay, but the actual sex acts will be described as it usually is in traditional romance novels (i.e. some metaphors and more focus on the "feelings" of sex than the actual x and y and z body parts and explicit descriptions)
> 
> (if you're needed an Explict romance novel, uhhh the firefighterAU starts posting on Friday, and that's a "fast-burn sex// slow-burn feelings" romance novel)
> 
> (and also I wasn't kidding//Poe wasn't kidding, there is DEFINITELY a scene involving the kitchen table and I'm ALREADY SORRY)


	20. Letters: Across Centuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters from Poe Dameron to Kes Dameron, 1951; journal entries of Rey Palpatine-Solo, 1946; text messages between siblings, 2014; a letter from R. Kenobi to her young relative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO.
> 
> I upped the update schedule, but I am now worried that it has thrown people off and they're moving away from this story (ah, anxiety, the frenemy of the writer).
> 
> Nevertheless, for those of you still reading, i hope you enjoy this letter interlude! Heed the warnings, please, there's heavy stuff here.
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  General angst  
> Rey's **journal entries** begin to describe the abuse she suffered in the early part of her marriage - it begins with her mentioning verbal abuse/physical intimidation, but by the end, she does reference the full-body terror she lived in -- she also mentions that she thinks she's the one "causing" Ben to act in such a way!! So big warning there!  
> There are text messages between siblings in 2014, and they also hint at abuse/an abusive relationship

* * *

(Personal Letter, July 13, 1951, translated from Spanish)

_Dad,_

_When I was seventeen, you entrusted me with Mom’s ring. You said that I should save it for the right partner, and while we know that my romantic history has been … varied in success, I have grown ever more sure that I have, at last, found the right partner._

_Her name is Rachel, Rey for short. She was born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, exactly seven years after a date of some importance to both you and the world._

_Her grandfather was a pilot. She has brown hair, and eyes with enough green in them that I think of home, among the trees and fields and earth that so long sustained us. She has a dimple in her cheek when she smiles, which isn’t often enough. She’s a nurse, and saved countless lives during the war, and has seen hell on earth in more ways than one. Her life hasn’t been easy, but it didn’t succeed in making her cruel._

_I want you to meet her. I would have liked for you to have met her before I offered her the ring, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. If there were any way for you to come here - but I know sea travel doesn’t agree with you. It doesn’t agree with Rey either. She’s terrified of boats, for reasons that are her own, reasons I hope she might one day share with me._

_While I have only known her two months and some change, I know that I love her. I know that I could never love another the way I love her. The next time you hear from me, I hope I will have summoned the courage to take that great leap -- and, I can only hope to hear her sweet voice answer ‘yes.’_

_Love always,_

_Poe_

* * *

(Journal Entry, March 16, 1946)

_Our honeymoon has been a dream! France was so beautiful, so different than it had been even two years ago, and now we are in London which looks new and shining to me through the eyes of a wife._

_Ben’s mood shifts daily, but that is normal for him. He says it is in his blood - I am inclined to believe him! Everyone always said I was so similar to my dear uncle Ollie, after all._

_We are visiting a solicitor today, one whose name I have heard before - and whose face I know quite well. Can you_ _believe_ _that Armitage Hux has crossed paths with me again? And that he is an old school friend of Ben’s? He had been so abrupt with me over the acceptance of my inheritance, and so demanding that I claim the name of Palpatine … Ben assures me that Hux is ill-tempered, but a smart man._

_He also would like to combine our finances. The inheritance I received from the grandfather I did not know is so massive - it does not even feel like my own. It is like a phantom limb, and I do not care what happens to it. I would much prefer Ben take over it for me, as he has assured me his studies of business will help him make good choices with it._

_My inheritance from Ollie was so small in comparison, but I think I should die if I were to lose the cottage. I think he spoke once of a house out near Canterbury, but we never visited there, and there was no mention of it made to me in the handling of his will._

_Ben says I shall give myself wrinkles if I continue to fret over money. I stuck my tongue out at him and told him_ _he_ _was the old one, not I, and he glowered at me so powerfully I think he must not have taken my joke well. Sometimes I do not know what to say to make him smile._

_We have the rest of our lives to figure out what makes the other smile, I suppose!_

* * *

(Journal Entry, April 2, 1946)

_Ben was so furious today, it was as though he had become a different man._

_He screamed at me so loudly when all I did was ask him if he had remembered to order my dress from the shop in London, the one I had seen on our honeymoon, the one not two weeks ago, he had promised to buy for me._

_He raved at me for what felt like hours, but it was surely my own embarrassment that made it feel more than the five minutes it was. An hour later, after I had run outside to hide how frightened I was, he found me and held me so tenderly I felt my heart break as he cried into my hair. I know he loves me. I know he does._

_But is it terrible that I found it so hard to love him then?_

* * *

(Journal Entry, November 10, 1946)

_I am so frightened._

_It feels as though I have married Dr. Jekyll only to discover that he is also Mr. Hyde. It feels as though_ _I_ _am the one causing his sudden rages -_

_Today I had a horrible thought that I should not like to die before I am even one-and-twenty._

_I am going to Jyn - she will know what to do, if I have not yet pushed her away with my constant need for help and guidance._

* * *

(Personal Letter, February 1, 1941)

_Cass -_

_Fuck the code._

_If you married me only to die on me, I will find you in the afterlife and you will never hear the end of it._

_Write to me. Write to me, you foolish, stubborn man._

_Jyn_

* * *

(Text Messages, July 3, 2014)

_Leave him, Resa he isn’t worth ur time he sounds like a douchebag_

_R u ok?_

_Moms worried and so am i_

_Resa call me_

_Teresa Rose Calrissian, answer your fucking phone._

_resa?_

* * *

(Personal Letter, August 15, 2014)

_Darling girl,_

_Your mother tells me you have lately encountered some trouble, and that you will most likely not be attending university this fall._

_You need not fret -- I am not writing to scold you for such a decision. Nor am I asking for an explanation. It would be silly, I think, for a great-grandmother to hound the youngest of her family for information._

_I would gladly open up my home to you. Hope Cottage will always be here for you, whenever you need it._

_The city is no place to heal, Teresa. Come to me, and we will pass the time together: you can help an old woman, and I can have some interesting company (and as I write this, I can feel your Poppy ready to throw a shoe at me, but his aim wasn’t that good in 1951 and I do not think he could throw it all the way from London)._

_Think about it, and do let me know if you intend to stay with me._

_All my love,_

_Nana Kenobi_

* * *

(Personal Letter, August 18, 1951, translated from Spanish)

_Dad,_

_I’m coming home on the next boat that leaves this place._

_I’ll be alone. Please, don’t ask me why when I see you. I only look forward to seeing you again._

_Love always,_

_Poe_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not sure how many people read the last chapter because of engagement/the end of days/maybe you didn't like it/etc, but to those of you taking the time to comment/kudos/message/etc, it means a lot and keeps me typing (and also really cheers me up!!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed these (maybe Enjoy isn't the right word) and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts/theories//questions!


	21. Hold Me Close and Hold Me Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the storm trembles to its conclusion, Poe and Rey find themselves in each other's arms, in every possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we GOOOO
> 
> It's THAT chapter. You know the one. the steamiest One i have planned. the outline for this on my computer is entitled "The Smuttening"
> 
> So, anyway, the **sexy warnings**  
>  Manual stimulation, both male and female  
> Oral sex, male-to-female.  
> Full/vaginal sex
> 
> Genitals aren't really described, and most everything focuses on sensation. Everything comes with consent, both for the parties involved (poe and rey) as well as you guys so you can skip blobs of paragraphs if you need to. The sexy stuff doesn't start in earnest until the line "I want you to touch me," and that's when everything ... starts happening.
> 
> After the line break is where they have the full-on smuttening, and it switches to Poe's POV. 
> 
> **other warnings**  
>  Rey references a few times her sex life with Ben (not very passionate/not often, and she doesn't describe it in detail)  
> Rey references not having much say in her sex life before this point  
> Rey also references pain during intercourse in the past

It was a peculiar thing, to be excited at the prospect of something that once had brought her only dread. 

Her bed had not been a happy one during her marriage, and she and Ben had slept separately almost always. After the honeymoon when things had started to go poorly, Rey did not relish the duties of a wife, nor did she seek them out. Ben, having turned to drink to handle the slow collapse of his finances and eventually her inherited fortune, was rarely interested in the marital act either. 

And there was the matter of --

Rey pushed it from her mind and twisted her hands together, focusing on the preparation of herself for Poe’s arrival. He was still in the kitchen, judging by the sounds she could hear below her, and she would know he was drawing near from the sounds on the stairs and landing.

But what to do until he arrived? She had one, beautiful piece of French lingerie she had kept from her honeymoon; there hadn’t been cause to wear it more than once, when Ben had fussed at her for its silliness, its frivolity, and mortified, she had hidden it.

Should she wear it now? Poe had seen her near naked already, and hadn’t seemed terribly aware of anything she was wearing (Rey thanked the stars above that she had worn a pretty, sheer slip today and hadn’t forgone the feminine undergarment). His own state of undress at dinner, the casual way he spoke to her as though their bareness was hardly of interest when they were near each other -- it puzzled her greatly.

She supposed she shouldn’t think to the times where she was scolded for showing skin above her ankle, or above her wrist.

Taking the jug of water from the corner of her room, Rey poured a half-glass and drank it quickly before moving to the sink basin and splashing water on her cheeks. She stared at herself in the small mirror over her ancient vanity; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, but her  _ hair - _ oh, it was a veritable rat nest.

Deciding to use her time thusly, Rey dragged her fingers through the snarls, refusing to wince at the tugs to her scalp. Then, she braided it back diligently, not wanting to cause irritation in Poe if it brushed against him, unwanted. She cleaned her teeth last, patted her cheeks dry one last time, and then heard it -

Heavy footsteps, climbing the stairs.

Rey walked on shaking legs to the bed, and once she sat, bounced her knee to relieve some of the anxiety coiled under her skin. She folded her hands and took a shuddering breath when she heard him draw up short at the door; she hadn’t locked it. He would open it, and discover her here, and the passion that had built up between them would finally break as he took her the way men took women, and-

Poe knocked. Twice. 

The rain was a hum in the back of her mind now as Rey stood and crossed the room; she saw her fingers tremble when she reached for the doorknob. Tightening her hand into a fist for a second, Rey drew in a deep breath as quietly as she could, and exhaled, turning the handle and opening the door into her room.

Poe was standing there, hand at his sides, hair slightly tamed; he was dreadfully handsome, his face cast in half-light from the small lamp in her room. The corridor was dark behind him (she cursed herself for not thinking to light a lamp for him), and now he wore a sweater similar to her own, as well as a pair of slacks.

_ Had he changed his mind?  _

He looked like some hero from a Gothic Romance, dark eyes brooding and features strong and striking, except -- he was smiling. At her. Like it was an easy thing to do.

“Hello,” Rey said, still gripping the wood of the door. She smiled back, and it made his increase to a grin.

“Hello.” He gave a little bow, making her laugh. “Would it be alright if I came in?”

Polite to the last: Rey nodded and stepped aside, and Poe smiled at her as he crossed the threshold. It made her heart speed up again to think of the implications.

“Thank you,” he said calmly. He looked around her room, and Rey was glad for her sparse belongings because it meant there was little he could see that she would not show him herself.

Still though, Poe looked around and she wondered why she wanted to know what he thought. There was a framed portrait of her grandfather, a collection of books stacked in the corner, a few odds and ends she had been tinkering with for use around the house, and a small doll from her childhood that she had stubbornly kept through her marriage (and that had proudly gone back on display four months after her husband’s death).

“Who’s this?” Poe asked, genuinely curious, as he walked to the doll and crouched, smiling at it. “Oh. He’s a pilot!”

“Yes.” Rey felt abominably shy now.  _ Why hadn’t she hidden it when she heard him coming?  _ He must think her a child. “I - made it when I was a girl.”

She had put together scraps of fabric for the uniform, and sewn the body of the doll painstakingly over the course of weeks. 

“He’s wonderful. A real hero, I’d wager.” Poe tapped the cap of the doll and straightened up. He saluted it playfully, and Rey felt -- well, torn between sinking into the floor, and kissing him. 

It was becoming a regularity with this man, clearly. 

“I used to make dolls out of ears of corn when I was a kid,” Poe commented, turning now and gazing around the room; he saw her vase of flowers and smiled before continuing, “nothing that would have lasted that long, of course. Still though, I liked ‘em. Used to make up stories with them.”

“You were always a writer, then?” Rey asked, unsure of what else to say. She was still shocked he hadn’t mocked her for keeping a doll (more shocked that he readily admitted to playing with dolls and liking them as a boy). 

That gave him pause. His mouth twitched into a sadder smile. “I guess so.”

“What is it?” Rey crossed the floor after closing the door and stood next to him; she touched his wrist to have him look at her, and he did. “What?”

“My mother-” Poe cleared his throat. “She and I made them together. We played with them even when she got sick, and I’d tell her stories, and -” He shook his head, looking grieved. “Buried my favorite with her. Sorry, I don’t mean to-”

“No,” Rey shook her head quickly, “don’t apologize - thank you for telling me.” She grabbed his hand on a bold instinct and squeezed it; it brought some of the liveliness back to his smile. 

They stood for a few moments, only looking at each other, and Rey’s heart fluttered a few more times -- she had never been accustomed to fear (had been forced to live in it at times during her marriage, and in horrible bursts of memory ever since), but this felt of a material different than fear. Nerves, then. And not unpleasant nerves.

She opened her mouth to tell him at the precise moment Poe said, “I don’t mean to-”

They broke off in embarrassed laughter and both apologized. 

Poe kissed her hand. “What were you going to say?”

The floorboards were cold beneath her feet, and all she could think about was the heat that flourished on her skin under his lips.

“Nothing,” she answered with a breath of a laugh,” It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes grew serious, and he turned, guiding her to turn with him, until he had clasped her hands with both of his in the space between them. “If we intend to-” she watched him swallow almost nervously, “-I need you to know. What you have to say matters. It always does, but - but especially here, sweetheart.”

Rey nodded, her cheeks hot, unsure of what else to say.

“I only was going to …. I’m nervous, is all.” Rey lifted a shoulder and hoped he wouldn’t find that off-putting. 

“We don’t have to-” Poe cleared his throat, his eyes darting over her shoulder for a moment as a branch cracked against the window. Rey startled too, but calmed quicker. “I’d be happy holding you and nothing else. I know I - I said a lot downstairs, and I of course meant that I - I wanted to, but it’s not the only thing I want.”

“What would make you happiest?” Rey hedged, unsure of what he meant. “What can I do to make you happy?”

Poe frowned now, and she grew more nervous until he said, “Being with you makes me happy, Rey. But - that’s a privilege, to spend time with you. And … and I don’t know how to say this, but, making me happy? Is not your responsibility.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head.

“It would never be your responsibility. My mood is my mood, sweetheart. Kissing you improves it, and seeing you smile certainly does too, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want you so badly I could feel it in every last one of my bones - but, if I get  _ less  _ happy because you’d ‘deny’ me any of that? That’s something I live with.” He kissed her hand again, ducking his head a little. “I’m sure there’s something we could find that would make us both happy tonight - and I’d be happy to do that with you.”

Looking out the window now, Rey tried to collect her frazzled thoughts; to her surprise, Poe didn’t interrupt her thinking, only stroked his thumbs over her knuckles. She could feel him looking at her steadily, but it was a patient sort of gaze; his body language was undeniably relaxed, and the lines of his face were too when she finally looked back at him.

“I’m not used to this,” she whispered, hating to get the words out, mortified at what it implied of her past. Poe frowned deeper this time, but didn’t stop her from speaking. “This - you caring about what I have to-” she blinked rapidly, and he moved his hand slowly to cup her cheek, his calloused thumb wiping away a tear. “It’s … quite a bit to handle sometimes.”

“I understand.” He didn’t pull away from her, and his voice stayed gentle, soft. Rey closed her eyes.

“I liked kissing you.” She blurted out the words before she grew cautious enough to stop them.

“Is that so?” She could her the smile in his voice, and she nodded, smiling too.

“I really liked it.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” He delicately stroked hair she had missed from her braid behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, yet scorched her veins something fierce. “I think that was probably obvious though.”

“A little.” She heard him chuckle at her teasing. “I’d - I’d like you to kiss me again.”

“Yes?” Poe took a step closer to her, and she felt the heat pouring off of his skin. She swallowed and nodding, well aware of her lack of dress and his proximity even with her eyes closed. “And what else?”

“I’d like to - try things,” Rey tested out hesitantly, still smiling, her cheeks surely a color of red not normally witnessed in nature. Poe gently slid his hands back to her hair, his fingertips moving against her scalp deliciously; Rey arched her neck into the touch. “See what - feels good?”

“I want to make you feel good,” Poe murmured. “But kissing first?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and she felt his lips brush over hers a second later. She smiled again when he pulled away, her heart nearly ready to jump from her throat, her soul from her skin. “Again? Please?”

“What’d I say about me and  _ please _ ?” Poe murmured, brushing his lips against hers again. Rey chased the phantom of his kiss, fitting her hands into the fabric over his chest. She could feel his heart pound under her right palm. “Don’t need to beg me for anything, sweetheart. Only ask-”

“I want you to kiss me for real,” Rey said impatiently, opening her eyes to frown at me, “Honestly Poe-”

He kissed her  _ for real  _ then, catching her off-guard; his mouth fitted to hers perfectly, and she gasped as he moved his lips expertly over hers, his body hot and solid and real against hers.

She kissed him back as fiercely, marveling at how his touch was urgent and powerful but not overpowering, not painful. She  _ felt  _ his desire for her, both in his touch and in the presence growing more apparent on her hip as they tangled together, swaying back and forth while his tongue traced an indescribable pattern on her lower lip.

“Was that an approximation of  _ real _ ? Was it what you wanted?” Poe asked curiously when they broke apart to breath; he still held her tenderly, his hands against her shoulder blades. 

“Yes,” Rey nodded, and her own hands urgent now, tugged him to the bed. They lay down, side by side, Poe’s hands gentle on her sides as he moved to kiss her again. “I want - I want you to touch me,” Rey said boldly after another few minutes of passionate kisses had stolen her breath and, it would seem, her inhibitions.

“I  _ am  _ touching you-” Poe pointed out, trailing his hand along her bare thigh and making her shiver.

“That isn’t what I meant.” Rey swallowed fiercely and took his hand, pulling it closer to where she wanted. She left it under her borrowed sweater, breathing slowly and shallowly at the white-hot sensation of his fingers on her lower stomach. 

“Oh.” Poe smiled at her, drowsy somehow, and kissed her again. “You sure?”

“I’m so su-” Rey gasped as his hand moved only slightly downward, and she switched to nodding instead.

“If you don’t like something, tell me.”

Rey gripped his arm and studied his face while he worked at her; she twitched once or twice from sensitivity, and Poe kissed her nose and paused both times while she guided him to more accurate positions, and then, his mouth on hers, she surrendered to gasping, holding his arm so tightly she thought he might bruise.

“You’re so beautiful,” Poe murmured, kissing her cheek as she moved to bury her face in his neck. “That’s it, sweetheart, oh - oh, beautiful girl - yes? There?”

“There,” Rey moaned, nodding and then gasping at the sudden fullness. “Right there-”

His touch was steady, and it was quicksilver in her veins, diminishing her thoughts to a swell of pleasure that peaked seemingly without warning. Rey pulled back right before she fell into it, wide-eyed, confused from it, and Poe kissed her as she half-shrieked, losing control of her limbs while Poe continued to kiss her and touch her, his movements slowing as her breath did.

“What-” Rey frowned, aware that the wisps of hair against her forehead were sweaty. She pressed her lips together and swallowed, her mouth strangely dry from all the gasping she had done - “Oh, heavens-”

_ How embarrassing, did she - in her underwear - _

“Either I did something very wrong, or very right,” Poe said sweetly, pulling his hand free and gently tugging her sweater back down. 

“I’m afraid I need to use the-” Rey gestured to the hallway where the upstairs toilet was, her breathing uneven, her mortification peaked, “I seem to have lost control for some-”

“Sweetheart.” Poe kissed her forehead sweetly. She collapsed against the pillows, her limbs oddly shaky in a way they never had been - from strain, or soreness, certainly, but this felt -  _ boneless.  _ Weightless, even, for how heavy she felt at the same time. “Have you never-”

She scowled, not catching his meaning.  _ Of course she’d had sex, she was married for three years - _

“-had an orgasm?”

Rey paused, heart skipping in its chest slightly. “Don’t be silly, those are for-”

“Men?” Poe guessed, arching an eyebrow. He shook his head slowly, and then held up his hand as evidence. “They certainly aren’t limited to my sex.”

“I -” Rey shook her head and pressed her cheek into the pillow, studying his face for the jest that was sure to come. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she swore he muttered darkly, but his eyes were clear when he looked back at her. “Sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead again. “Going to the bathroom isn’t - the worst idea right now, if you want to stop there, but - I assure you, nothing … unexpected happened, from what I can tell.”

He was pink, and Rey nodded, too mystified (and angry, if she were being honest) to wonder why.

“I don’t want to stop there,” Rey said suddenly, her mind strangely sluggish but finally catching up to something he said. “I very much don’t want to stop there.”

Poe’s smile was beatific in its brightness, and Rey smiled into the light of it. “What were you thinking?” He asked, kissing her nose. He put his fingers in his mouth and sucked, his cheeks hollowing, and Rey’s heart rate picked back up, her cheeks flushing in response.

“Downstairs, you mentioned,” she cleared her throat, her core feeling strangely empty and her body consumed with the need to remedy that, “...using your mouth?”

His smile was  _ wicked  _ now, and her toes curled in response.

“I did.” He leaned back with a smile and studied her. “I think that would be - very interesting.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” He hummed and rolled back over, nuzzling kisses into her neck; Rey tilted her head back to study the ceiling and gasped as he lightly nipped above her collarbone. “I think I’m overdressed, though.”

She didn’t respond at first, her mind going to the memory of his golden, tan skin on display for her - and Poe pulled away.

“Or not,” he said hastily, “I can stay dressed, if you-”

“I don’t know why you even put them back on,” Rey muttered grumpily, tugging at his waistband, her finger hooked around the loops of his belt. “Honestly.”

“Wasn’t sure if you’d want anything more,” Poe said serenely, sitting up on the bed. She followed him, more in charge of her limbs now. “Didn’t want to cause undue pressure on you.”

“Well.” That was very - thoughtful. Rey’s cheeks flushed more. “Well, could we - take them off?”

Poe smiled and stood, obliging, and she could see the outline of  _ it  _ through the material of his boxers when his pants hit the floor and he stepped out of them. He ran his hands through his curls, almost nervous in her gaze. “Anything else?”

“Sweater,” Rey said automatically, feeling wanton, heated, craving more. “And shirt too, if you bothered with putting one of those on-”

Poe laughed at her bossiness before she could remember to be embarrassed by it, and obliged with that command too.

The muscles of his stomach weren’t terribly defined, but his _shoulders_ \- oh, his shoulders and chest were sculpted by the hands of Michelangelo himself. He smiled at her, his eyes drowsy again, clearly aware of her interest in his form, and when she held her hand out mutely, he took it and let himself be pulled back to her bed.

Their kisses were unhurried somehow, even with the fire in her blood, and Poe slowly rolled them so he was hovering over her, balanced on his forearms or hands, depending on how deeply he was kissing her; she felt in sporadic moments the outline of him curved against her, and she gasped each time, her hips tilting with a hunger she’d never experienced so viciously. 

Slowly still, Poe pulled away and kissed the length of her jaw. She tangled her fingers in his hair and hoped her gasps would encourage him, and it did until he had kissed all the way down her neck, to where her collarbone was exposed by the sweater’s neckline. 

“On or off?” Poe asked, kneeling between her legs; she forgot to be embarrassed at how she was lying before him (and why  _ should  _ she be, when they were adults in this bed, who wanted each other). 

Rey sat up and tugged on the bottom of the sweater. “Off, please.”

He helped her guide it over her head, and she saw the effect her bare torso had on him -- it was a shock to her system to see how readily Poe showed hunger on his face, how his eyes tracked the limited curves of her body … and how he didn’t find her wanting.

Still, she went to cover her chest subconsciously, and Poe spoke, still holding the sweater: “you can put this back on, if you’re uncomfortable. We can even stop - but - don’t think for a second that you aren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re all talk,” Rey muttered, averting her eyes but lowering her hands.

“I’m really not,” he murmured, ducking down to kiss her cheek until he turned her face towards him and he kissed her in earnest. “I don’t intend to be. Not with you. I’d - I’ll show you, if you let me.”

Rey nodded and lay back down among the pillows as he guided her to, and he began to kiss down her body; she squirmed too much when he got to her small, insignificant breasts, too worried at what he might think. “Not now?” he whispered.

“Not now,” Rey answered, her face flaming. 

“Stop?” Poe asked, returning his lips to her sternum.

“Keep going.” Rey nudged her thigh into his leg, where was now kneeling, and Poe smiled before obliging. 

His lips found a ticklish spot to the top left of her stomach, and her squeaking giggles made him smile against her skin. Her hands tangled in his hair when he reached her right hipbone. When his breath washed over her, hot and consuming, the emptiness inside her roared to new heights.

“Can I-” He asked, hands at her underwear; Rey sat up slightly, bracing her weight on her elbows, and nodded.

“Please-”

Still, he didn’t move to touch her or kiss her behind stroking her inner thighs, his stubble scraping against her skin deliciously, the world throbbing and tilting to this one point inside her that she didn’t think could ever truly be touched.

“May I?” Poe asked, and she felt the words against her more than she heard them.

She tightened her fingers in his hair. “Yes.”

“Tell me what feels good,” he said, his voice strangely wrecked, as he lowered his face to her. She swore she heard him breathe in - “I wanna make you feel good-”

He barely needed her help to do that. Rey, who hadn’t even  _ heard  _ of such a thing before that evening, was soon convinced that there was no better feeling or action in the world. Poe’s mouth - clever in conversation and quick with a smile - proved to be more talented than she could have ever anticipated. The fire inside her rose to new crescendos, rising and falling  _ twice  _ in the ecstasy born from his kiss, and when he crawled back up the bed, smiling only  _ a little  _ smugly, Rey wrapped her arms around his neck and moved to kiss him.

“Does it bother you?” Poe asked, worried, before their lips met. Rey snorted and kissed him anyway, the taste different, slightly strange, but somehow satisfying to know she had made his mouth taste of her.

The next minutes were passed silently, Rey shivering here and there as echoes of pleasure rippled through her relaxed limbs; Poe pressed kisses into her hair here and there, and she soon grew aware once more of the noises outside of the bed: rain against the window, wind in the trees, the house creaking slightly in the dying storm.

It occurred to her then, that a great injustice had taken place: “I want to touch you,” Rey said, making Poe stiffen slightly and pull away.

“You don’t have to,” He said, with a slight frown. “I don’t - expect it -”

“I want to,” Rey repeated stubbornly. “You aren’t the only person who intends to  _ amaze and befuddle  _ tonight.”

“Befuddle?” Poe echoed, grinning widely. “Well, I think I could handle being befuddled.”

He was still laughing as she pushed him slightly onto his back, moving her hand down his stomach as slowly as he had moved; the laughter faded from his face as he tipped his chin back with a low groan, her nails scraping slightly along the defined muscles that pointed inward and down from his hips.

_ Two can play this game,  _ she thought mischievously, brushing a kiss over his hipbone after her hand had moved past it.

“Hell!” Poe swore violently, his hips jerking slightly as though he were containing it. “Jesus, Rey, sweetheart, baby-”

“Hmm.” She smiled at him and tugged on his underwear until he moved to help her pull them down. “Oh, that’s - that’s not bad at all, now is it?”

Poe blushed furiously and answered weakly. “That’s reassuring.”

“It’s good,” she said, placing her hand carefully. She’d never in her life taken so long to do this, nor had she felt such an interest in it: but Poe responded so viscerally to her touch, gasping and closing his eyes, his chest flushing, that it was … well, Rey hoped it wasn’t too wicked of her to think that it was downright  _ fun  _ to do this.

After only a few minutes of her touching him, Poe’s stomach muscles tensed, growing more clearly defined, and she felt his hips move slightly under hand. “Rey,” he moaned, “oh, hell, Rey sweetheart, I’m gonna, - I’m gonna - please-”

She watched, slightly shocked, as his hand moved to join hers, “Can I?” he asked, staring at her, his expression one of almost perfect agony, and Rey nodded, going to move her hand away, but Poe shook his head with a slight whine that made her insides go molten-hot again. “N-no, both - please-”

He wrapped his hand around hers, and she felt the light-hearted teasing joy she had felt fade into a powerful, intoxicating intimacy, as Poe’s eyes stayed on her face as he trembled and finished with a single, last whisper of her name. 

Poe cleaned himself up after, and when she returned from the toilet, slightly refreshed, cheeks still flushed, Poe caught her in his arms and pulled her to him, kissing her sweetly. 

“I do love you,” he whispered when they pulled apart. He rested his forehead on hers. “Wanted to say it before when you were - but didn’t want you to think I was sayin’ it on account of …”

“I understand.” Rey smiled and kissed him back, worried that she should repeat it, afraid of how  _ much  _ it was to say, but he didn’t seem discouraged by her silence. 

“I can go now,” Poe said, and her heart pounded in her throat for a less fun reason; she tensed as he pulled away, and Poe noticed. He stilled. “Unless - would you want me to stay?”

“If you need to go, I won’t stop you,” Rey said, not wanting him to see her for how badly she needed him near, still.

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” Poe answered, taking a step back toward her. “I’d want to stay by your side until you tell me to take a hike.”

“Well, then.” Rey took his hand and pulled him to the bed whose sheets were mussed and smelled of them. “Stay.”

And he did.

* * *

The world felt kinder when Poe opened his eyes.

Rey was tucked in his arms, her breathing pleasant and deep, and birds were beginning their pre-dawn chorus outside. The bed was warm, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to commit this to memory: the stillness of the world after the storm, the soft weight of Rey against his chest, the smell of her hair and the thought of her last night, gasping in pleasure on account of him.

“Are you awake?” Rey whispered, and it was only her voice that could stir him from his reflection, his urge to write this down and commit it perfectly for the annals of history.

“Yes ma’am,” Poe answered drowsily. He opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him, coy and mischievous. God, it was a wonderful smile on her. “Is it time to kiss you?”

“Hmm.” Rey thought about it, or at least pretended to, before she nodded and accepted his kiss happily, neither of them seemingly bothered by morning breath or the stiffness of waking limbs.

Their kiss became something else quickly, but Poe kept steady, steady until Rey rolled to her back, and tugged him to follow her, reversing their sleeping positions.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, pulling back to cup her cheek; no matter how much he wished otherwise, she couldn’t read his mind, and he couldn’t read hers.

“I’m thinking that I want you,” Rey answered, the early morning making her words sound dreamlike but also endlessly perfect in the drowsy bubble around them. She put her hands to his chest and smoothed them up and around to the back of his neck; she drew him in for a kiss and he went willingly.

Another minute of kissing like this, hovering over her, and Poe was awash in the sensation and the joy of being near Rey.

“Do you want me too?” Rey asked when he pulled back once more to look at her. He nodded, licking his lower lip, shocked pleasantly when she leaned up to chase where his tongue had been, her lips and teeth lightly grazing the point. He groaned in his throat, and Rey settled back against the pillows. 

“Let me-” Poe disentangled himself from the blankets, nearly tipping over, and Rey protested slightly. Luckily, his pants were right next to the bed, and he kept his ass on the mattress while he grabbed them and dug through the pockets for the condom. 

Rey reached out while he searched and dragged her nails up and down his bare back lazily; he shivered, a small stone of cold in his stomach at the thought of his scar facing her (what if she saw it and was repelled by it? There was a reason Poe hadn’t done this since before the crash), but she avoided it, her fingertips skimming lightly to the side of the gnarled tissue. 

“Coming?” Rey asked dreamily, and Poe nodded, sliding back under the blankets and showing her the square in his hands.

“Only if you’re certain,” he said softly, kissing her again when she nodded, her eyes locked on his. 

“Very certain.” 

After he put the condom on, fumbling slightly given that it had been almost a decade, Rey opened her arms to him again, letting him settle between her legs.

“Can I help you get ready?” Poe asked, and did so when she whispered  _ yes.  _

They remained kissing the whole time, slower and softer and on the whole more sweet than their fit of passion the previous night. When he moved to slip inside her, he took her hand and guided it to him, wrapping his fingers around hers like he had the previous night.

“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable, or i-if it hurts,” he managed to say, kissing her nose and cheek sloppily as she nodded and helped him move. 

He loved her. It was perhaps the only true thing in the universe, that he loved her. Poe had seen war, and death, and pain: but it didn’t exist here, here where he moved inside her, and she held him to her. Poe watched her face until her eyes slipped shut, and the pleasure built along his spine. He kissed her tenderly, and she whispered his name, the world winnowing down to this one moment in time, perfect and gentle and theirs.

The sky outside the window grew soft-rose in the approach of dawn, the dark blue fading to almost purple above the eastern horizon, and Poe watched it as he tried to control himself so this wouldn’t be over too quickly, so he wouldn’t hurt her by mistake.

Rey made a pretty noise towards the end that nearly destroyed him, a noise that shifted his internal compass to point towards it, the goal of making her create noises like that often, and when she dug her nails in slightly to his lower back, Poe choked back a noise of surprise and spilled out, the world a white hot blur of noise and feeling that all came back to Rey.

He held her for a long time after, not moving from her, and Rey stroked his hair. Then, he heard something:

A faint sniffle, wet, and timid.

Poe was horrified, and it stirred him immediately from his haze of bliss.

“What is it?” He asked urgently, looking up at her and relaxing his grip on her upper arm. He avoided touching the horrid scar there, but perhaps he had hurt it again, or done something  _ worse  _ in the final passionate moments of their lovemaking. 

Rey was crying gently, her jaw set stubbornly as she avoided looking at him.

“I hurt you.” Poe moved away from her slightly, and he cupped her cheek as he hovered over her; his heart slammed against its cage in his self-hatred. “Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m so-”

“No.” Rey shook her head, and took a shuddering breath. “Y-you di-didn’t h-” Her face twisted as though in great pain, and Poe doubted her words, assuming she was being kind.

“If I hurt you, please tell me, so I won’t do it-”

“It didn’t hurt at all.” Rey was adamant now, and she looked right at him before her eyes darted away and she covered her mouth with her hand. “It - it didn’t hurt at all.”

Concern washed over him. “Rey?” 

“I didn’t know it didn’t h-have to-” Rey shook her head and accepted his arms around her when he held her; she curled in on her side and wept, and Poe kissed the shell of her ear, her shoulder, over and over again as he curved his body around her, blocking out the world that awakened behind them, praying that he really could be a shield between her and that world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHH lord that was almost 6000 words of foreplay and smut and I swear there isn't much more smut after this other than some scenes and vaguely described interactions here and there AND I ReALLY HOPE people enjoyed it but i also know people either don't really like smut or generally don't comment on smutty things (i mean i get it, it's hard to say "sweet bangin', my dude!") so I will just jump back ON my sinwagon and continue through this dark night of quarantine and pretend people didn't hate that i spent two hours writing several sex scenes when I could have been like, you know, writing plot or w/e.
> 
> happy sinful sunday! plot resumes now, and the timeline of their life picks up ... it'll be ... august before you know it (cough cough)


	22. Letters: A First Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An E-Mail (2015), a series of journal entries (1947-1951), and a transcript (2015)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLOOOOO
> 
> We are past the major "smuttening" in this fic, and I hope you enjoyed
> 
> Here are some more serious entries. Please heed the warnings (and I hope you don't hate the formatting! I am so so sorry in advance for how disastrous the transcript must be for screen readers!!!)
> 
> **warnings**  
>  Rey's journal entries detail her abuse and the way she felt in her first marriage.  
> For the first time, we see Rey reference struggling with fertility (and how she blames herself is implied//and that Ben blames her is DEFINITELY implied, ugh)  
> *She references events that we have seen in past letters:  
> *Notes being afraid for her life  
> *References being strangled/how it made her lose her voice briefly  
> *And, like many victims of domestic abuse, Rey struggles with loving her abuser, and with conflicting feelings on how to leave him/ if she should leave him. Remember, she was 21, and financially cut off from independence, and would not have access to many resources we have today - also, victims of domestic violence are *never* at fault for not leaving their situation or for staying with their abuser.
> 
> If domestic abuse is something that hits close to home, the end notes of this fic include some options of how to reach out during the quarantine.

* * *

(E-mail, May 15, 2015)

_ Tío P - _

_ Thanks for your last email. Nana’s still telling me stories I’ve never heard, and I think it would be a great idea to ask her to let me record some of them. Sometimes I get worried and think she thinks I’m someone else, but most of the time she’s as smart as ever. _

_ She sounds sad when she talks about her first husband. I don’t know what to do when she’s sad - I didn’t even know she was married before. He didn’t sound great. Did she ever tell you anything about him? She only has the one picture from their wedding day. She was so beautiful. _

_ He looked like a real cabrón, as abuela would have said. I can’t believe she was barely two years older than me when she got married. _

_ She sends her love, and insists that she’ll send you an email as soon as she can figure out the router. Why she won’t just hire a person to come fix it is beyond me. _

_ Lots of love, Tío, _

_ Resa _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, June 16, 1947)

_I am so angry I could_ _scream._ _My money? Tied up in war machines by my husband without my permission -- when I asked him to handle the finances I did_ _not_ _meant for him to squander a fortune that could have been put towards a better life!_

_ Oh, he is a  _ _ fool _ _. I don’t know how to approach him about the finances considering the purpose I meant for them. I almost feel as though he knows I wish to leave.  _

_ I still cannot feel my fingertips from what happened in February, and I feel as though my back belongs to a ninety-year old when I wake sometimes. _

_ I want to forgive him. He is the person closest to me in the world, and he is right. We are so similar. Does it make me a fool to forgive him? It feels as though I’ve swallowed a hot coal when I think about it, and while I did truly mean to leave him … if there is no money, there is no place for me to go. I cannot live with Jyn and Cassian. They are only a mile away, and I could never ask them to leave this place. _

_ It will be fine. All will be well. He’s been much gentler of late, almost like the man I fell in love with overseas, because he knows how desperately I want a child, and I know how desperately  _ _ he _ _ wants an heir. He seems to understand that the rough treatment from earlier this year would not help us get what we want.  _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, July 2, 1947)

_ My courses came again today. _

_ Not much more to say. Ben was furious. He’s been drinking since I told him. I think I shall go to Jyn’s before it gets rough again.  _

_ I hear him coming up the stairs now. _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, December 31, 1948)

_ This year will be easier, I know it! Ben has returned from his travels, and while it meant I did not see him for nearly four months, it also meant he was so pleased to see me that we’ve done nothing except sit and talk and be in love again since he’s returned! How lovely it is, to have a quiet and pleasant home. _

_ Part of me still longs for adventure, longs to see the parts of the world I have not yet seen, but Ben assures me we will travel in the summer. I cannot wait to be on the open water once more! _

_ (He thinks he’s found someone to teach me how to pilot an aircraft! How exciting!) _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, May 14, 1949)

_I’m so angry I could …. Spit! Scream - or - tear my hair out. Benjamin_ _told_ _me of his travels from last fall and how he had squandered_ _every_ _last_ _penny_ _to my name. He borrowed on credit using nothing_ _but_ _my name. That foul, loathsome - it doesn’t bear writing. It just doesn’t! I’m so angry._

_ I asked him for a few hours to collect myself before we talk more about it. He says we will have to continue to use the cottage as a means for financial gains, which means opening it up to more strangers. I do not mind the idea of new company and think it’s rather exciting in prospect -- but some of the men he invites in here are of the worst sort. There was even a Nazi sympathizer once, and I threw him out the moment he let on. _

_ Ben was so upset with me, but what else was I to do? I refuse to allow any of that  _ _ scum _ _ into  _ _ my _ _ home. _

_ Oh, I am  _ _ livid. _ _ I do not know how I will phrase my thoughts to him in a way that he will accept, but I will try. _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, May 16, 1949)

_ Cassian says I won’t be able to speak for weeks. My voice might never be the same. _

_ I thought he was going to kill me. I’ve never been  _ [smudge]  _ afraid. Not when we were being shelled. Not even when Ollie was dying. _

_ I don’t know what made him stop. I certainly no longer believe it was love for me that made him stop. _

_ I don’t think he’ll ever stop. _

_ I’m afraid. _

* * *

(Journal, Rachel Palpatine-Solo, July 10, 1951)

_ I have not written in over two years. Funny, how time has passed so quickly and yet so slowly. I read the words on the previous page, and it reminds me of that cold fear I felt in the last months of my marriage. _

_ I do not feel fear now - it’s still there, a phantom on the edge of my happiness, but it  _ _ is _ _ happiness I feel. I feel it with Jyn and Cassian, with Finn, Rose, and Jannah, and of course, with Poe. _

_ He makes me smile so widely I feel as though my cheeks have run a marathon distance.  _

_ He is so dear to me now, after so little time. I am not sure what I would do if he were to be another Jekyll in the making. Jyn says I must trust myself. I must. I will. _

_ I do not think I am wrong this time.  _

* * *

(Audio Recording on iPhone, Transcript, May 23, 2015)

[Unidentified Female Voice #1]: “And I … I talk as though I normally would?”

[Unidentified Female Voice #2]: “Yeah, Nana, right into the mic-”

(Shuffling noises, muffled laughter)

[Unidentified Female Voice #1]:  _ “ _ Well, that’s certainly different than I remember -”

[Unidentified Female Voice #2]: “Could you say your full name into the mic, Nana?”

[Unidentified Female Voice #1]: “Rey Kenobi.”

[Unidentified Female Voice #2]: “And I’m Resa Calrissian. It’s May 16, 2015--”

[Rey]: “What, already? Jesus.”

[Resa] “(laughter) Yeah, Nana, it was just April-”

[Rey]: (indecipherable muttering)

[Resa]: “Why Kenobi, by the way? Why not take your husband’s name?”

[Rey]: “I had already taken a husband’s name, and lost it. And lost a few other things in the process. It wasn’t something your bisabuelo cared about.”

[Resa]: “No? What did Tata care about?”

[Rey]: “... Family. And home. He cared about solid things, real things - he cared about … all of you. And… and he cared about …” 

[Resa]: “...you?”

[Rey]: “Yes. He did. Very much. He told me every day, you know.”

[Resa]: “Told you what?”

[Rey]: “That he loved me more than anything in the world.” (pause. Giggle) “And, he told me that I was beautiful.”

[Resa]: “You are beautiful, Nana.”

[Rey]: “(chuckling) He certainly made me feel that way.”

[Resa]: “You make it sound like there was a time where you didn’t feel beautiful.”

[Rey]: “I … well, there was quite a long time where I didn’t. Where I wasn’t … allowed to feel that way.”

[Resa]: “Your first husband?”

[Rey]: “(pause) Yes.”

[Resa]: “You don’t have to talk about it, you know. And we can even, like, turn off the mics if you want. I just - you have all these journals, and letters up in the attic and - and I really wanted to, like, add to the family history. Get your thoughts down.”

[Rey]: “I suppose I’m flattered that someone so young cares about my … (pause) … But. No. I want to - I’d like to talk about it, dear. Please, ask your questions.”

[Resa]: “Alright. We can stop at any point, okay? I just wanna make sure-”

[Rey]: “While I'm still young, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mysteries will all be peeled back, soon enough
> 
> We are very close to the end-game of this fic, I imagine 8 or so chapters more, also known as about two more weeks of fic left.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's stuck around and everyone who's shown their support <3 It means the world, and it keeps me going, so thank you!!! As always, I'd love to hear what you have to say!


	23. The End of Privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey's time alone comes to an end with Finn, Rose, and Jannah returning from town; they make the most of it and grow closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hellloooooo!
> 
> Here is chapter 23, and there are some things to note:
> 
>  **Unpleasant warnings**  
>  When Poe and Rey are in bed together (cuddling) they both open up about their trauma:  
> Poe shares his story about being shot down as a soldier and his fear/fear of fire/lingering anxiety  
> Rey talks about her abuse at the hands of Ben - no new detail, but it's in her voice, so it's a new format and warrants its own warning.
> 
>  **More Pleasant Warnings**  
>  Poe and Rey get a little *ahem* intimate at the end of the chapter in the kitchen. It involves male to female oral sex which is written about extensively, but not graphic/explicit; there's a pretty clear start to the scene:  
> "I recall you mentioning a different use for the table?" and then around the line "Is that a yes?" it stops being a definitely sexy narrative and becomes a very passionate make-out scene that does not progress to sex (but does involve implied under-the-clothes touching)
> 
> I suggesting reading the end of the chapter as much as you can because .... well, you will see!!! It's important to Plot! But, if you can't for reasons, the Plot Point's going to be super obvious in the next chapter.

If she had once thought the world would be entirely new and strange in the wake of her passionate hours spent with Poe Dameron, Rey had been very much mistaken.

The next day passed as much as the days ever did: with errands and cooking, with cleaning and work around the property. But now, wonderfully now, there was Poe, filling up the corners of the house with his laughter, lending a hand with the more strenuous work, making sure she had eaten at the mealtimes, and prompting her to smile with his steady reliability.

On the evening after their initial collision, Rey felt a strange tension overtake her: would he expect another round of ferocious lovemaking? Their first coupling had been tender, but - per her own direction - the second had been more rigorous, more like exercise in its exertion, with her astride him, laughing wildly as they wound their way to a satisfying conclusion. And now she was _sore_ \- pleasantly so, but in a way that suggested real pain were she to attempt another set of ‘exercise’ that night.

After dinner, Poe called her into the sitting room, and she went, worrying her finger over a hole in her borrowed pants; but, to her surprise, she found him sitting with a book in his hands, a shy smile on his face.

“I was going to read,” he explained, holding up his novel, “And I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

“Read - only?” Rey asked, sliding the too long sleeve of her sweater back up her arm. 

His smile grew more bashful. “I was thinkin’ I might kiss you once or twice, if you’d let me.”

She smiled in return now and pretended to hum while thinking. “I suppose I might allow it.”

And they had spent the next two hours curled up on the sofa together, Poe really only moving to turn his page or to kiss her hair, and once to pull the blanket from the back of the sofa to throw over her legs when the air grew cooler. 

At times, she didn’t even read and only let herself sink into the warmth of being tucked into his side; his arm wrapped around her, casually rubbing a thumb in circles over her shoulder so her eyes grew drowsy, his scent all at once familiar and comforting, intoxicating and alluring. When they went to bed, he turned to go to his room, and she caught his sleeve, drawing him up short.

“Would you - would you want to join me again?” She asked, making him smile, albeit questioningly. “To - to sleep,” was added hastily in clarification.

“I think you’ll find me unable to turn down any offer to hold you,” Poe teased, and he followed her up the stairs. 

And, at no point, did he shift things to reflect a sexual desire. His eyes roamed over her hungrily after she had changed to sleep, but his hands never reflected the hunger, only held her softly as his lips brushed over hers with a tenderness that made her ache in a different way. When he put the light out, an apology slipped past her lips unbidden.

“What for?” Poe asked, his voice sleep-filled and his breathing slower. 

“For - for not wanting to -” Rey cleared her throat. “I don’t intend to offer you any slight, I only find myself sore from last night.”

That woke him up. “Sore?” His hand stroked over her forehead gently. “You didn’t say - was I too rough?”

The giggle that slipped past her lips was near girlish; she barely recognized it as her own voice. “Not at all - I quite enjoyed, our, …”

“Me too.” A kiss against her temple. “But you’re hurting? Was it all day?”

“On and off.” Rey stretched her toes out and nestled deeper into Poe’s side. “But it’s of no impor-”

Poe rolled out of bed, and Rey protested loudly; he only chuckled until he banged his knee into the doorframe. “ _Shit_ \- gimme a minute, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” she whispered to the now empty, quiet room. She swallowed back her fear as the spot next to her grew cold - had she irritated him with reference to her feminine issues? After all, her pain had never been of much concern in the past, and she’d offered her comment on it so freely -

Poe returned while she was berating herself, and he slipped back into bed, holding something out to her. She took it: it was soft to the touch, and warm. 

“I use it for my back sometimes,” Poe explained, helping her press it to her stomach. “It’s just a hot water bottle my dad wrapped in fabric.”

“Oh.” It was pleasant through her nightgown, and Rey hummed as some of the pain lessened at the bottom of her stomach. 

She found herself blinking back inexplicable tears, and she guided it slightly lower to where the ache presided between her thighs. Sighing in relief a moment later, Rey tilted her head back to kiss Poe. “Thank you. That was very sweet of you.”

“Like I’ve said before - it’s easy to be sweet to you.” He kissed her back. “Sweetheart.”

Rey smiled at his silliness, and relaxed further into the comfort of the heat source. A thought occurred to her, and she opened her mouth to speak before shutting it at the idea of such impertinence. And of course Poe noticed.

“What is it?”

“I - you’ve never told me about…” Rey trailed off, overcome with worry that she’d already said too much.

“My back?” Poe guessed, and she felt him reach behind his shoulder. “I guess it’s not something I like to talk about.”

“You don’t have to,” Rey assured him, “I was only curious.”

“Well, it’s - I don’t hate the idea of telling the story when it’s you.” Poe tapped her nose lightly before continuing, and she smiled in the darkness. “It’s not much of a story, either. I was flying over French waters after they stormed the beach at Normandy, and I was shot down. A friend in my squadron was too: they fished both of us out; I survived. He didn’t.”

His voice sounded different at the end, an unfamiliar tension underscoring his words, and Rey unthinkingly reached out to stroke her hand over his arm in comfort. Poe didn’t lean away from the touch, so she supposed it wasn’t entirely unwanted.

“What was your friend’s name?” 

There was a pause. “Muran. His name was Anthony Muran.” Another pause. “He looked a lot like Finn, actually. I thought - hell, when I saw Finn the first time, I thought he was a ghost. Coming to ask me why I’d survived and he didn’t.”

Rey made a soft noise she couldn’t define and pressed her hand to Poe’s cheek; she was unsurprised to find it was wet. He gripped her wrist and pressed a kiss to her palm, his stubble scratchy, grounding.

“I didn’t like the sight of fire for quite some time after,” Poe commented, and it made Rey’s chest seize in sympathy; her fear was elsewhere, but she knew what it was to fear an element all the same. “The burning - it isn’t something I like to think about often. And it finds me, sometimes, when I sleep. The crash, the wreckage, the fire.”

“I’m so glad you survived,” Rey whispered, and Poe pressed his forehead to hers, his breath still steady in the darkness, and she closed her eyes and let it wash over her ceaselessly, the air that was important because it had come from his lungs. 

“I wasn’t for a long time,” Poe murmured, “But I’m glad now, too.”

They held each other like that for over a minute, and Rey couldn’t understand how Poe - so masculine and strong - would tell her the deepest of his heart so easily. It was strength, undeniably, and it made her want to be strong, too. So, she tried.

“I don’t go in the water.” He kissed her nose when she stopped and cupped her cheek tenderly. “I - since the night he d- I can’t.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Poe whispered, “Now, or ever-”

“I’d like to tell you,” Rey said, swallowing dryly; she set aside the hot water bottle when it grew too warm.. “It’s just - I’m not sure how to tell you everything. What you might think of me when I tell you: it scares me.”

His feet slid against hers under the covers, and his hand gripped her back firmly, holding her to him. “Nothing on this earth could force my heart to let go of you, Rey” Poe said fervently, and she closed her eyes and let the words burn through her. “Nothing at all.”

She breathed out shakily, and shook her head at his croon of concern: “I’m not used to being treated like something fragile,” Rey explained, near-misery in her voice. “Or being held like I’ll break. I’m not sure if it’s right.”

“You aren’t fragile.” He kissed the sharpness of her jaw. “You’re so strong. And - I’m holding you like you’re precious.” He kissed her forehead, and Rey tucked her face into his neck, Poe shifting on the bed to continue holding her that way; “I’m treating you like I love you. Because I do.”

She pressed her nose into his throat and exhaled again, the breath trembling with unsounded sobs, and Poe still held her to him. 

“What are you used to?” Poe asked, and she felt the words vibrate in the column of his throat before they met with air; she felt them vibrate through her. She felt him swallow. “Before this - What - I don’t need to know, but I should like to, so that I can know how to help-”

 _I don’t need help,_ her instincts snapped, but Rey pushed it away and reached for the softness she felt when he held her. 

“Harsh words,” she whispered to his collarbone, glad he couldn’t see her face. “Cruel hands. You know some of it from - what we did. He … was the only man I’d known in that way, and I was always a … prize to him. To be controlled. A resource, to be used. A - wild thing to be brought to heel.” Her breath caught, and she pulled back at the same time Poe did, and she could feel his eyes searching her face in the dark. 

“Did he-”

“Often,” Rey answered when Poe couldn’t finish the question. “I thought - I feared he would kill me sometimes, he was so angry. It was worse when he drank. Once he - he choked me so badly.” Her hand went to her throat at the thought of it, and she felt Poe stiffen, a palpable tension that radiated fury (for her, she discerned, he was angry for her), passing through him “- I wasn’t able to speak or move for two weeks. Cassian was so furious.”

“He hinted at that,” Poe admitted, his voice rough with hidden rage; Rey felt a flare of irritation at her old friend that settled into irate acceptance. Of course Cassian had. “He said that - I think he was warning me, and I see why, now - that you hadn’t been treated correctly. Not that I needed a reminder, or an urging, to be good to you.” He took her hand and kissed it, and Rey focused on the feeling of his lips on her skin. “I want so badly, to be good to you.”

“I want that too,” Rey said, “I want to be good to you.”

He smiled, his lips still against her hands. “You are.”

She wanted to argue, but he sounded honest, so she accepted it, at the same time she decided that she would try twice as hard in the future to do exactly that. 

“And for now?” Poe asked softly, “What would you want? What would you have me do?”

Rey thought about it, and was surprised at how easily the answer came: “Hold me,” she said simply, Poe’s arms doing exactly that, moving them both until she was nestled against his strong chest. “And never stop,” she whispered, face burning, hoping he would hear her earnestness.

“I don’t intend to.” A kiss to the top of her head allowed her eyes to close. “I don’t intend to.”

* * *

The days went by dreamily, and then it was the end of their week alone; Poe would remember these nights forever, the first nights where he could hold Rey the way he wanted to, where he could kiss her while they danced slowly in her front room, where he could touch her hand to draw her attention and earn her smiles as they went through the regular order of the day.

On their last full day of solitude, the weather was clearer than it had been in almost a week; Poe put together a basket and was able to lure Rey out to a patch of dry grass, where he spread out a blanket and they were able to properly picnic.

“Have you ever done this?” Poe asked, handing her a half of a sandwich he had made in preparation.

“Not since I was a little girl.” Rey said happily and stroked her hands through the patch of wildflowers growing to her right. The cliffs were a line of grey in the distance, the water not visible from where they sat - he had picked it on purpose for that reason. 

They sipped cold tea from jars that he had packed and ate sandwiches slowly in the warm sunshine, and Poe couldn’t keep his eyes off of Rey’s face. As they ate, they talked of nothing and everything all at once, of their preferences and distastes, of their childhood fears and joys.

When Rey grew silent and tilted her head back - much like a hot-house flower, Poe mused - he turned to his journal and wrote about the day, capturing as well as he could how beautiful Rey was in the sunlight, how the strands of her hair turned to dark red as the clouds passed through, how the birds sounded in the trees, fully awake and wanting to join in with their peaceful happiness. 

Drowsy, Poe lay down on the blanket, and at Rey’s urging, placed his head on her lap, her skirt soft and reaching to her ankles. He smiled as he thought of her in the shorter dresses that were customary where his father lived, and it was then, imagining her in bright colors with flowers in her hair, that he fell asleep.

When he woke, Rey was stroking her hand through his curls, her voice soft and achingly beautiful as she sang to herself. It was as though the world had gone quiet for her, the birds and trees and flowers her audience, and Poe let himself listen to her, not wanting to break the spell she wove:

_“So early, early in the spring/I shipped on board to serve my king/ I left my dearest dear behind/She oft' times swore her heart was mine_

_My love she takes me by the hand/"If ever I marry, you'll be the man"/A thousand vows so long and sweet/Sayin' "we'll be married when next we meet"_

_And all the time I sailed the seas/I could not find one moment's ease/In thinkin’ of my dearest dear/And never a word from her could I hear…”_

Her voice grew softer towards the end, a hush falling over their small meadow, and an ache built up in his heart at the tragic beauty in her song.

“What is that?” Poe asked, and Rey stirred slightly underneath him.

“ A song my grandfather used to sing sometimes.” He felt her move and realized she was wiping her cheek. “He always sounded so … sad when he sang, but he had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.” She scratched at his scalp, and Poe sighed in contentment. “Until maybe yours.”

“Flattery, considering how lovely yours is.”

“Oh, hush.” She kissed his forehead all the same when he rolled over to smile up at her and the sky, and then she sighed. “The day’s getting on: we should go back inside.”

“Maybe,” Poe agreed. “But maybe a few minutes more?”

They stayed there for another few minutes, Poe playing with Rey’s fingers, kissing them here and there to hear her soft laugh, so precious to his ears, and then they packed up together and walked back to Hope Cottage, strolling through the long grass with butterflies flitting from flower to flower around them. 

When they were back in the kitchen, the window thrown open to meet the sweet air of spring outside and to tempt a breeze to cool down the house, Poe gathered Rey to him and kissed her sweetly, first on the cheek, until she turned her face to kiss him properly.

“I feel like I’m in a dream sometimes when I’m with you,” he murmured, and Rey brushed her nose against his.

“A good dream?”

He smiled before kissing her again. “The best.”

Without releasing her, he studied the clock above the door. “Almost time for supper.”

“I suppose it is.” She kissed his jaw, and then his neck, and Poe fought back a growl of interest. “Although…”

Poe smiled and tilted his head back, giving her more room to kiss and nip her way down the column of his throat ‘til he was very much putty in her small, capable hands. “Although?” He asked, his voice already hoarse with wanting her.

“Although I think I recall - you mentioning a different use for the table?” Her smile was pure mischief, and it brought him nothing but happiness to see it so clearly on her lovely face.

“I think I did,” Poe hummed and pretended to have to think about it. “Could you perhaps - remind me?”

Rey giggled and leaned in to whisper it back to him in his ear; when she reached _that_ particular word, Poe growled in earnest, and she laughed again, and they stumbled back to the table, already tugging at each other’s clothing.

“You can sit up here,” Poe said, helping her up onto the sturdy oak, and it rattled in a way that did nothing but stoke the flames in his belly higher. “And I - I can do my worship from down here, on my knees.”

“That’s blasphe- _Oh,_ God-” Rey gasped when he sank to his knees and grasped the backs of her calves through her skirts, gazing up at her with what he knew to be ardent desire on his face.

“More blaspheming,” Poe tsked. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” He pulled back from where he was stroking his thumbs over her calf muscles. “Do I have your permission? I’d very much like to make good on my promise-”

“You have it-” Rey laughed breathlessly, and Poe pulled back her skirt delicately until he could see his goal. 

With some clever thinking on his part, and knowledge of how to shift around certain undergarments, Poe had Rey gasping satisfactorily in moments. He thrilled the moment her hands left their grip on the edge of the table and switched to his hair, her blunt nails scraping at his scalp and making him more fervent in his quest.

He focused on his task, relishing the taste and smell of her, humming and moaning in equal parts, half-wild with pride when her feet pressed to his back and she collapsed backward on the table, her hips rolling in tempting undulations.

With a scream, she half-rose from the table, clutching her skirts out of the way as she stared down at him in wonder, and Poe met her eyes as she trembled and twitched, pulling away only when he sensed her gasps tilting to the less pleasurable. 

He stroked her a few times tenderly, treasuring each flutter of movement it earned him, and he half-crawled onto the table to kiss her stomach and breasts over her dress. When she held her arms out to him, Poe helped Rey move upright, her cheeks flushed, her neck red, and her hair mussed and falling about her face.

“Oh,” she pressed herself to him for a kiss, and Poe was shocked, again, at how little she cared about the intimacy of it, the taste of herself on his lips - he was shocked until he gave in to the joy of her touch and kissed her back.

“Shall we test the strength of this table more?” Poe chuckled against her lips, and Rey giggled.

“I don’t know - what if we broke it?”

“I’d build you a new one,” Poe assured her, confident and so very much craving her. He helped her skirts settle over her legs to help her feel less vulnerable as she decided, and framed her face with his hands, witnessing her smile burst forth like a burst of sunshine through clouds. 

“You make temptation sound so -”

“Tempting?” He guessed, earning him a small poke in the side that they both laughed at. They returned to kissing, and Rey fumbled with his shirt, untucking it fully and setting to work on his buttons.

“Is that a yes?” Poe teased, and Rey nodded, kissing him again and pulling him in so he was nestled between her legs, pressed up against the table. 

Poe moaned desperately, dragging his hands through her hair and pulling it all the way free from her bun; he worked carefully to make sure he didn’t pull at her scalp, and Rey paid him almost no mind, her fingers diligently pulling each of his buttons free until his shirt hung loose around him.

They returned to kissing, their hands roving more freely now, and Poe was lost, nothing could --

Strangely, there was a knock at the edge of his awareness.

“What was-” He pulled back from the kiss, only to have Rey dive in and kiss his neck, driving his attention back to her again. 

“Ignore it,” she urged, kissing him fiercely when he turned back to her, “probably a delivery of some sort-”

Another knock as they kissed -

“Or - or a lost traveller,” Rey laughed, and Poe smiled and returned to kissing her. The knocking stopped, and he forgot about it for a blissful minute, Rey’s hand wandering to the waistband of his pants, making him gasp and grip her waist.

“Am I … interrupting something?” 

Rey half-shrieked and pushed Poe away, at the same time he curved his body to block her from the direction of the voice:

It was a woman standing at the back door whose window was still open to the air, her face obscured by sunlight, her hair grey and frame small.

“Oh!” Rey was mortified, but Poe was mildly irritated and offended on Rey’s behalf - it was her property, after all.

“May I ask who’s calling on us?” He said through gritted teeth, his hand now moved to block Rey’s face from the woman’s view.

“I’m her mother-in-law,” the woman said, jerking her chin towards Rey, who was visibly shaking now. Poe felt a flare of anger - that man’s mother was here? Making Rey feel like absolute -

“Excuse me.” Rey pushed at his chest, and he moved back immediately - Poe watched her half-run to the front of the house and he heard her disappear up the stairs.

He turned back to the door and grabbed his shirt that Rey had abandoned on the table in her haste to remove it from him. Poe took a few steps forward, and the woman laughed, a brusque but not unpleasant noise.

“Well, I can see why she didn’t answer the door.” The woman lifted her eyebrow in a terribly approving way, and Poe blushed furiously as he buttoned up his shirt again. She leaned out of the light more, and her features came more into focus.

She blinked twice owlishly, and then a slightly ornery smile crossed her still beautiful features:

“Well, I’ll be damned. Or should I say - Poe _Dam_ eron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The official chapter count is SET. After this chapter, there are now six chapters left, which, by my calculations, means this fic will conclude on May 17. I do hope I continue to entertain you between now and then!
> 
> I'd love to hear theories, screechings, shoutings, and yelled demands and questions! Anything you think, I'd love to hear it - as always, your comments and encouragements are keeping me going. 
> 
> (And JEEZ, Leia! The woman can make an entrance).
> 
> The letter chapter posts tomorrow, but I've twisted the format once more, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks as always for reading!
> 
> UPDATE 5/7/2020: chapter 24 will post Sunday because today super did not happen and I wasn’t able to write chapter 24... oops!


	24. The Night It Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Leia settles into visit at Hope Cottage, Rey's past comes roaring back to haunt her in full-force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO
> 
> here it is, the answer to all your questions (okay, maybe like half your questions). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS and gather your spoons if you need them.
> 
>  _notes_  
>  This is a combination of 1951 narrative, flashback to 1949 (still a narrative) and a handful of letters/transcripts. Any change is noted by a page break and either a time stamp or a "letter" "correspondence" "transcript' description.
> 
>  **WARNINGS**  
>  Poe and Rey have consensual sex (nongraphic, more of a "they're having sex and I'm being vague about it" description than anything else) that Rey initiates.  
> Intense violence TW  
> Domestic abuse TW (in the narrative) - including grabbing, near choking, attempts on someone's life, etc.  
> Drowning TW - POV depictions of drowning /death from.  
> Vomit TW  
> Jump scare (unexpected appearance of a bad character)  
> Chaotic narrative/confusion/near-death experience.
> 
> The sequence after Rey begins to tell poe her story (it's very clear - it says "she told him what happened" more or less, so that's the signal), you can skip. You might not know the full story of what happened that night, but I can summarize for you in a private message on tumblr -- also, better to not know than to read something triggering!!

* * *

( _ September 17, 1949) _

“Ben?” Rey stood at the doorway to the office, hoping he wouldn’t shout at her for standing there. 

She could see the shape of him reclining on the sofa; taking a hesitant step forward, Rey tried again.

“Ben?”

He grunted and shifted slightly. Her hand flew to her still sore ribs as though he were in any state to stand and rush at her - but no. He was asleep. That day’s bottle of whisky sat, half-drained, in his loose grip as his head rolled back. Rey nodded, swallowed back a sharp wave of bile, and half-closed the door behind her.

She smoothed her shaking hands over her apron and pulled out the letter from Jyn which had been slipped into her hand this morning when they ‘happened’ to find each other in the woods. Taking another set of quick, light steps down the passage, Rey leaned against the wall, heart, pounding, and read the words for the thousandth time that day:

_ Starling, _

_ Lovely weather We’re having. I think we’ll be Going into the city After all. With the solstice behind us, it’s getting Dark sooner and sooner, but the office has been staying open just as Late, almost  _ _ 10 pm  _ _ some nights, so it’s been hard for my darling husband and I to get away from his work. Can you believe that the butcher tried to pay us in Meat the other day? He insisted on paying Us something because money’s been so tight, but I don’t know where his head was At giving us Fifteen pounds of chuck. It’s been a lovely fall, but I’ve been sneezing as the Sycamores have been sending something into the air For the season. What a strange Send-off for summer.  _

_ I think we’ll be able to take the boat out once more, though. _

_ I hope this letter finds you well, starling. Say hello to Benjamin. _

_ All our love, _

_ Stardust _

Rey traced her fingers under the words Jyn had emphasized:

**_We’re going after dark; late, 10 PM. Can you meet us at fifteen Sycamore for send-off?_ **

Dock slip fifteen, the Sycamore. Bodhi’s boat. She’d be leaving by boat, then. Rey closed her eyes and held the letter tight to her chest - in his sleep, Ben gave another loud groan, audible down the hall, and Rey set into motion again.

Perhaps she had been watering down his liquor for the last eight months - at the start, it was self-preservation. While loud and terrifying in a different way while sober, Ben was less quick to strike her when he hadn’t been at the drink. But, with Luke’s letter at the start of the month, promising her financial assistance if she were to flee, and her own growing awareness of Ben’s violent intentions for her - it was time. 

Rey had slowly stopped watering the liquor down and handed him an uncut bottle when he asked for his drink after dinner.

Three years was long enough. Three weeks had been long enough.

She glanced over her shoulder as she entered the larder without turning on any light. She counted her steps and knelt, prying up the loose floorboard she had discovered a year ago. By memory alone, Rey found her knapsack that was full of what she couldn’t live without:

Her photographs of her grandfather. Her journals from the war. Her childhood doll. Some provisions. And money she had been desperately saving for over a year, pennies and farthings and pounds here and there, squirreled away at the bottom of a sock which had grown into a pouch she’d somehow kept hidden from the drunken, wasteful louse who was passed out in the study right now.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation when she crossed to the back door, at least, not for the man she was leaving. Rey put her hand on the doorframe of her house, her home that had, for so long, been a happy place. The house where she had lived with Ollie, the house where she had learned about herself and her history, the house with its falling-down chicken coop and ramshackle shed that was almost a barn to a girl with an imagination:

“Goodbye,” She whispered to the frame of the home she had loved so dearly, before she had brought danger and cruelty inside its walls with her foolishness. Rey pressed her forehead to the walls, feeling as though she was saying goodbye to her darling grandfather one last time, and she wiped her cheeks quickly as she pulled on her coat, tied a scar around her neck, and crammed a hat over her hair. 

“Good luck,” was added, more for her benefit than the house’s, and Rey pulled the letter out of her pocket as planned and set it on the counter, next to an empty bottle of wine.

If one were to read it - unsealed and unfolded as it was - they would only find six words:

_ Goodbye Ben. I’m not coming back. _

She straightened her apron out and marched through the door, more tears trembling out of her eyes as she entered the back of the property and quietly closed the door behind her. With the moon shining overhead, Rey ran through the grass and through the overgrown hedges, slipping into the trees where the darkness was more complete.

Her heart was pounding so loudly she didn’t hear the door open behind her three minutes later; she certainly didn’t see the shadow peel off from the back of the house and follow her into the trees.

* * *

_ (June 30, 1951) _

“More potatoes, Mrs. Organa?” Poe asked, holding up the bowl to Leia. The older woman barely spared him half a glance over her clasped hands, her eyes mostly trained on Rey.

“No thank you, Poe. But it’s nice to know that your manners are still impeccable.”

Poe set the bowl down and eyed Rey, who was grey-faced at best, exhausted and swaying in her seat. He’d offered multiple times before she’d come down to speak to Leia to take care of it, to entertain Leia and see what she wanted, but Rey had insisted on changing her clothes and coming downstairs, her face pale and drawn. 

Leia, for her part, hadn’t revealed her reason for her visit yet.

“You said that you knew me when I was-”

“Two.” Leia smiled, genuinely at him. “You were a little monster. Grubby fingers in everything, smashing plates, howling when you weren’t being held. I loved it.”

Poe smiled at her, and then glanced back at Rey, who had yet to eat more than five bites of food, which she’d only done robotically when Poe had come to the table with some roast meat and potatoes. 

“Your mother was a wonderful woman,” Leia said, not aware at how much the casual reference to Shara threw him off. Poe tensed, grief surging in his throat. “I was very happy with her when she was in my employ.”

“Forgive me,” Poe said slowly, his muscles locked somewhat, “But - I don’t quite know what it is you do, Mrs Organa.”

Socialite, if he had to guess.

“Attorney,” Leia said calmly, taking a bite of chicken. “Your mother was a translator for me on a particular gnarly case at the border that none of my male colleagues would touch with a fifty foot pole. Your father was kind enough to open up your home to me while your mother and I worked together.” Leia leaned back and her expression changed to thoughtful. “Your home was an interesting one; you don’t often see the husband as the home-maker. My own home was similar, why, I remember when Han and Ben would-”

“Excuse me.” 

Leia and Poe both looked over at Rey, who had pushed out from the table slightly. 

“I must - retire,” Rey whispered, skin pale and eyes wide. “Forgive me-”

And with that, she stood from the table and rushed to the stairs, her feet stumbling over the steps. Poe frowned in concern, and looked over at Leia. 

“I think she might be -” Poe coughed, and told himself that it wasn’t Leia Organa’s fault, necessarily, that her son was a monster. Many good people raised horrible children, and vice versa. “Embarrassed.”

Leia snorted and folded her napkin, setting it on the table. “That I caught you two  _ necking _ when I arrived?”

Poe felt his face warm. “Yes ma’am.”

She waved a hand and then grabbed her cup of wine. “Rey is an adult woman, Poe. My son has been dead for two years; I wouldn’t begrudge her happiness.”

Leia took a sip from her cup and then set it down; some of the animation left her face, and she didn’t look up as she said, “I know what my son was. And I - I do regret not helping sooner. I still don’t know whether my ignorance was willful or not.”

Poe nodded, and then Leia stood; he hurried to get on his feet too, and Leia snorted again, tossing her iron grey hair back from her face. “You were kind enough to get me set up in your room, and I thank you - if you would be a dear and help me clean these plates, I think my daughter-in-law might need you upstairs.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t-” Poe said hastily, blushing deeper now.

Leia rolled her eyes and handed him an empty plate stacked with utensils. “Please. However you comfort her is up to you, but I do know you’ll be of greater comfort than I. So let’s not make a scene and pretend you’re sleeping on a couch tonight, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” Poe mumbled, following Leia over to the sink. 

As Leia finished in the kitchen, Poe climbed the stairs, his heart in his throat still. He knocked at Rey’s door twice, softly, murmuring, “It’s me, sweetheart.” And even then, it was nearly a minute before she opened the door.

Rey stood there, still swaying, her eyes swollen and face blotchy, and Poe’s heart nearly broke at the sight. 

“Leia’s going to bed,” Poe said softly. “I gave her my room because everyone’s returning tomorrow-” Rey closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead; clearly, that detail had slipped her mind. Understandable. “I can stay on the couch tonight, but I wanted to see you and -”

“Stay with me?” Rey asked, hand extended to him.

There were, perhaps, a thousand good reasons for Poe to not take her up on her offer, and Rey was a logical, intelligent person who would see the reasons for good sense and not outright rejection. But he found that, given the excitement of the day, there was little he could reason to his own self, little he could think that would convince him not to take her hand, not to follow her into her bedroom and lock the door.

When the door was firmly closed to the outside world, Rey’s hands moved quickly to remove his shirt, with a different kind of urgency than what she’d shown in the kitchen before Leia’s arrival. 

He only stopped her long enough to murmur, “Are you sure?” against her lips before Rey nodded and pressed herself to him so closely, he thought deliriously of old bible verses about  _ one flesh  _ \- 

And then they were together, bare and half-crying as they moved, Rey’s face tucked into his neck as he stroked her hair, both of them trembling and gasping quietly, no storm to hide what they were doing, and what they were to each other.

* * *

(Brief Correspondence (Note), July 12, 1951)

_ P, _

_ I was right, wasn’t I? You two are together, and madly in love! How fantastic. Nod once if I’m right, nod twice if I’m right. _

_ Oh, and blink three times if I’m right. _

_ I’m right. _

_ Haha, _

_ F _

* * *

( _ July 1, 1951) _

The sun broke over the horizon, not doing much to dispel the soft blue tones of Rey’s bedroom. She was already awake when Poe opened his eyes, her cheek on his bare chest, and Poe stroked hair out of her face, trailing his fingers along her sharp jawline.

On his chest, he could see dark red bruises that her mouth had left behind, marks of love that hadn’t hurt in the slightest when she’d given them to him last night; in any other context, he’d feel a flare of pride, but all he could feel was concern. 

She spoke without him prompting her:

“I’m so afraid.”

Poe’s fingers stilled and he looked down at her, even more worried now. 

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m afraid that - that she’s here to punish me.” Tears welled up in her expressive eyes, and she turned her face into his chest when he made a soft noise of concern. 

“Why on earth would she want to punish you?” Poe asked, aghast at the idea.

“Because,” Rey whispered, her breath washing over his skin, her face still obscured, “I killed her son.”

Ice water ran through his veins. “What?”

She didn’t answer.

Poe tucked more hair behind her ear, heart pounding in a horrible way now - self-defense, he figured, justified homicide - but, he needed to hear her tell him, so he could help her, protect her if that’s truly why Leia had come ( _ but Leia had said she had no ill will towards Rey - was she luring me into a false sense of security?) _

“Sweetheart, what - what are you talking about?”

Rey took a horrible, shuddering breath, and slowly, quietly, she told him what happened the night Ben Solo died.

* * *

_ (September 17, 1949) _

“Remember,” Jyn whispered as they crossed the dock, water slapping up underneath their feet. “Wait ‘til you see Luke flash his light at you, then pull up. He’ll help you capsize the Sycamore, and then he’ll sail north with you.”

The water churned as much as Rey’s stomach did, and she gripped Cassian’s fingers, which were tight around hers already. “What if something happens?” She asked anxiously, “And - is Bodhi actually-”

“Bodhi already has his eye on a new boat,” Cassian assured her firmly. “We’ll help him buy it after this one shows up wrecked. And with Jyn and I still here, mourning you-”

“Everyone will think I’m dead,” Rey said faintly, and Jyn, already pale in the moonlight, grew paler and nodded at her. They drew up at the edge of the boat, and Rey swallowed back tears. 

“I’ll never see you again,” she said to both of her friends, and Cassian tugged her braid gently before wrapping her in a hug that Jyn joined a moment later.

“I would rather never see you again than see you live with that man a day longer,” Jyn said fiercely. 

Cassian kissed the top of Rey’s head gently. “And I don’t think this is the end. Baze and Chirrut, Bodhi too - we’ll all see you again, Starling.”

Rey nodded, hiding her tears in Cassian’s thin chest a moment longer, and they all gripped each other tightly. 

“We’ll be watching,” Jyn whispered. “Stay close to the coast until you see Luke’s boat.”

“The water’s too rough to go much further,” Cassian warned, helping Rey get into the Sycamore. She gripped the straps of her knapsack and let out a shuddering breath. 

“Goodbye, darling.” Jyn kissed her forehead, and Rey swore she felt the imprint of tears from the normally stoic woman, which only made her own harder to control. “We’ll write to you as soon as we can.”

“Teresa Skywalker,” Cassian said fondly, untying her boat and helping Jyn push it out to the water. “I like the sound of that.”

Rey held the ropes of her sail tightly in her hands, adjusting them quickly as the boat floated out to sea. She held up a hand to Cassian and Jyn, who were holding each other and watching her disappear, and counted backwards from ten, her breath harsh, ragged, and far too loud in her own ears. 

Ten seconds to break down, and then she was at the helm, sailing to sea, glad for the lessons Ollie had imparted her before his death. 

She kept close to shore, as instructed, keeping an eye out to the darkened water in front of her as she sailed. The shore stayed at her right, and the water, while rough, was manageable as she planted her feet and moved through the night. 

Then, up ahead: the shape of a boat to her left, past the swells of waves, flashing a light to her. Rey smiled, wiped her face one last time, and looked to the shore, where she could imagine she could see the light of Jyn and Cassian’s home - although that was impossible, as it would be hidden by the bluffs. 

She didn’t think she was imagining the torches held by Jyn and Cassian, slightly behind her now as she sailed on towards Luke’s boat. 

The light flashed twice more, and Rey guided the Sycamore until she was side-by-side with the new vessel. A figure was at the helm, wearing a cloak over his head; just like Luke to be so dramatic, Rey thought fondly, thoroughly exhausted from having come even this far.

“Luke?” She whispered, peering through the darkness. “Luke, it’s me-”

She glanced down, and her heart staggered in her chest. The letters on the side of the boat did not read  _ Ahch’to,  _ named for Luke’s favorite excavation site. 

_ Supremacy. _

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“No,” she whispered, as the figure swooped towards her. “No, no, no-”

Rey sucked in a breath as Ben grabbed her wrist, still extended for Luke’s anticipated warm grasp, and she let it out in a ferocious scream:

“Cassian!” She had no idea if he could hear her from shore, but she tried her damnedest, clawing at Ben’s grip on her wrist as he tugged her viciously onto his own boat. “Cassian!”

“Thought you would leave me?” Ben panted, his breath sour with drink. “Thought you would - just leave me to what, die? Fade away without you?”

“Let go of me!” Rey elbowed him, hard in the stomach, as he hauled her backwards onto his boat. “Let go of -  _ Cassian! _ ” She screamed louder, half-sobbing in panic, and her foot desperately kicked over the lit kerosene lantern that she’d kept at the helm of her boat. The boat’s floor caught fire immediately, the flames spreading, and she flinched away from it as Ben roared.

“You won’t leave me,” he snarled, his hands tight, too tight, around her abdomen.

Rey coughed before he threw her against the side of his boat, and he staggered, still drunk, towards her.

“Stay away from me,” Rey shouted, furious - it made her sharper, thankfully, and she dodged his next blow easily. She kicked him savagely in the back of the knee, and as he fell to the deck with an almighty crash, Rey checked her knapsack, tilted her head back and studied the stars -  _ the last time I”ll ever see them,  _ she thought to herself wildly - and then dove overboard into the rough water.

Ice stole the breath from her lungs, but she struck out for shore before it could fully register and still her. With the water over her head, she could still hear Ben roaring something, and Rey fought through the waves, coming up for air fifteen seconds later, her chest screaming in protest.

Rey bobbed in the water, covering her mouth with her hand, too cold to even cry, not wanting her sobs to give her location away:

She saw Ben, his frame illuminated by the flames of the Sycamore, leaning over the side of his boat, studying the water desperately. 

“Rachel?” She heard him call out, a sob in his voice. “Rachel - where - where are you?” She saw him grip his head, and the water closed over her own for a moment before she kicked to the surface. “Rachel? I’m sorry, Rachel, please. Please, come back. Don’t be - oh my God, don’t be d- what have I - Rachel! Rachel!”

Water slapped her in the face, and her breath spluttered out, and Rey cursed herself as she coughed bitterly.

“Rachel?” Ben roared, anger in his voice again. “You can’t hide from me - I am your husband! Do you hear me -” He saw her then. Not that she could discern detail at this distance, but she saw his shaggy head left, could feel his eyes on her. “There you are.” 

She began to swim for shore, not hearing him scream: “You are mine, do you hear me? You are-”

He didn’t see the sail swing ‘round. Didn’t see it crush into his skull, knocking him overboard.

But, Rey did hear the splash of him entering the water, and choking on her own fear, Rey swam faster, her limbs aching, trying to get to shore. The waves closed over her head more often than not, and she fought against currents, against the cold, against the fear that threatened to pull her under even as she kicked out against the ocean.

Ben, even concussed, was much larger than she was - and, for all her strength, he was stronger.

He caught up to her too quickly, when she was still a hundred feet out from shore, and Rey screamed when his fingers closed around her ankle. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben spluttered, pulling her against him, and Rey screamed and pushed against him. “What -” A wave washed over them both, and they were dragged under, Rey fighting him tooth and nail the whole time.

Perhaps he was surprised, a distant part of her observed. She had barely fought back against him these past three years, only striking him when he grew so violent she thought she would die. On land, her recourse was fleeing.

Here, it was fighting.

They were drowning. She knew that. They would both drown out here, Ben desperate and drunk and angry, Rey tired and frightened and furious. His strong arms wrapped around her neck and waist and pulled her under again, his yelling incomprehensible and the ocean swallowed them both again. 

“Ben,” Rey sobbed when they surfaced, fear making her desperate now. “Ben, stop p-please-” Another wave, and she choked horribly. “Ben,  _ please _ \- I’ll, I’ll come back, please let go-”

Another wave, and darkness with it this time. 

Rey felt her limbs flailing, and Ben dragged her under once more - or maybe it was the tide, coming in, crushing over her. 

She would drown within sight of land. 

Coldness deeper than she had ever felt stole over her, and Rey felt herself slipping, past fear now, and then -

Stronger, warmer hands wrapped around her. Pulled her free from Ben - something small and sharp needled at Ben, and there was a rush of bubbles past her as Ben exhaled, either in anger or shock or as a last gasp -

Darkness swallowed her whole, the burning in her chest screaming into a sharp climax before fading to white noise.

She came to on her back, stars still winking above her. The air was cold, but a blanket was covering her. 

Not a blanket. A coat.

“Be with us,” a woman was whispering, “Please, please wake up, please-”

Rey coughed, and water spouted from her mouth, dribbling down her chin. She retched then, and strong, warm hands pushed her onto her side, her arms moving limply as she vomited out a rush of bile and salt water.

She tried to talk and found she couldn’t; tried to cry, but enough water was leaving her already. 

“There there, little sister,” a soft voice chided her. “Let it out.”

“Ch-” Rey tried to say his name, but trembled too much for it to come out. Darkness washed over her vision again, and another soft voice joined Chirrut. 

“You’re alive.” Bodhi. “You’re going to live, b-b-breathe Rey,  _ breathe- _ ”

“Any luck, little brother?” Baze. Shouting. Rey flinched from how loud his voice was, or at least her body tried to.

“Shh.” Jyn this time. Her hands were soft around Rey’s head. Her skin was warm, and Rey … Rey wanted to be warm, too. “Not so loud, Baze.”

“Sorry, little one.” Baze’s huge hand, she thought. Gentle on her shoulder.

Rey coughed and spat up more water.

There was a form emerging from the water. She remembered danger then - perhaps a sign that she was no longer dying - and she half-sobbed, half-flinched away from it, and Jyn stroked her wet hair.

“It’s only Cassian,” she soothed. Her voice, rough with fear, called out more quietly than Baze had done. “Cass - is he -?”

“He’s dead.” Cassian stood in front of Rey - he had moved so quickly, she thought deliriously. How had he gotten here so quickly?

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Cassian was kneeling in front of her, a hand on her forehead. 

“She’s in shock,” he reported quietly. “Get her inside - I’ll tell everyone she fell ill and was staying with us tonight.”

“Where’s his-”

“Don’t worry about that right now.”

“Will she be alright-”

Rey’s eyes stayed closed now, and she didn’t know who was saying what. 

She could tell something horrible had happened. Cassian had told her something terrible had happened. She just couldn’t remember.

There was the feeling of movement, and when she cracked an eye, coughing feebly, she saw grass underneath her, rough sawgrass that grew near the shore. The ground sloped upward. Baze must be carrying her …

Darkness washed over her once more.

Only now, she didn’t open her eyes.

* * *

(Audio Recording on iPhone, Transcript; May 29, 2015)

[Resa]: “Well, shit.”

[Rey]: “You can say that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh UHHHHHH uhhhhhhhhhh ?
> 
> ...... so yeah that was a lot. thoughts?


	25. Towards the End of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July goes by quickly now that Poe and Rey are together - but ill news is carried on fair winds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HAPPY SUNDAY SORRY IVE BEEN SO DISAPPEARED THIS WEEK
> 
> Here are some **warnings** for the chapter  
> When Rey talks to Leia, they both talk about Nazis and Nazis that survived the war (Surprise, Hux/Snoke are Nazi sympathizers)  
> Discussions of infertility  
> Implied miscarriage, plural (past, non-graphic/non described)  
> Brief sex/sensuality - you can go from "He was crying before she finished talking" to the next line/page break if you want to skip.  
> A bit of a cliffhanger

The days after Leia’s arrival were carried in on air unfairly sweet. 

In the hours after she told her story, Rey stayed quiet, and Poe did all he could to hold her. To tell her she was safe. His heart had broken in almost every conceivable way for her, and he hoped more in those hours than he had perhaps ever hoped that he truly could help her carry any of the burden of the night Ben Solo died. 

He did all he could, and whispered to her and kissed her and held her, and stayed by her side through the entire night, not asking for more details, and only telling her that she was good, and had done nothing wrong, and that she would never be hurt like that again.

But if she did not believe him, how could he blame her when now he knew how brutally she had suffered? 

He took to writing more in those days at the beginning of July, stories now and not memories: of healing water and floating rocks and peace in far away lands with different stars. He wrote when he could not sleep, and he wrote after nightmares rocked him awake. It was as though something had unstoppered inside him, the words crashing loose with the history Rey had shared with him.

His editor had long been hounding him for a better ending to his own manuscript: Poe had staunchly refused to write anything but the truth, and the truth remained that he had come back in pieces from the war - and many of his friends had not come back at all. Window dressing on the story would make it unfair, untrue. And Poe did not want to fill the world with untrue war stories.

But here at Hope Cottage, he at long last found a way to write the sort of ending that could make people happy, and that was to discover a different world altogether. He wrote of lost princesses of the Milky Way and brave young women from undiscovered planets, and knights in not-so-shining armor; the troops he had fought against became monsters of a different sort, and there were always people who were ineffably good, whose hearts were untainted despite all they had suffered.

Before, he had been writing to find himself a way out; now, he was writing to create a world where Rey would always have her happy ending.

* * *

After she had told Poe everything, it was as though something had untangled inside Rey. The untangling was both good and bad; her smiles did come easier, but her pride had also washed away to exhaustion. She found herself crying at moments without explanation.

Rey was torn between a great and terrible joy at being near Poe and being loved by him, and an awful, consuming guilt that gnawed at her when she caught Leia looking at her.

She had to know. A mother would _have_ to know. And Rey did not trust herself to lie if she were asked directly.

And then, one day a week after Leia had suddenly appeared (they had concocted an elaborate set-up where Leia stayed in Rey’s room “with” her, and Poe was in his room where Rey would secretly join him most nights), it finally came to light.

Leia caught her moments after she had finished crying - anger this time - and was walking back inside after feeding the animals. She stood near the back door and as Rey drew up, Leia gestured to the trees that lined the property.

“I was hoping we could go for a walk,” Leia said politely, and Rey could only nod.

She wished she had thought to tell Poe where she was going as Leia led her down the path in the wood. Not that she worried physically for herself; no matter how fierce Leia seemed, if she wanted to harm Rey, she would have neither age nor size on her side. Rey hated herself for even thinking of such a thing, but she had always been a survivor, and while Leia had seemed strangely amused at Rey’s relationship with Poe, she did not know how Leia felt about Rey’s marriage to her own son.

After they had walked quietly for five minutes, Leia drew up short and turned to smile at Rey. She froze and balled her hands into fists, waiting for her to say something. The air between them was twisted around them, a gordian knot of silence and secret, and Rey did not know who would be the one to pull it free. Until Leia spoke.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Rey opened her mouth and then closed it. _Lie? Tell the truth?_ She went for a half-truth, the way Ollie would have suggested.

“I have some idea.”

Leia’s mouth twitched upwards, and her warm brown eyes didn’t seem to harbor the fury that her son’s eyes - so similar in shape and colour - would have, had he been in a fit of rage. Rey swallowed and looked away for a moment, startling when something pressed into her hand.

It was a letter, the paper softened by travel. Rey looked at it and then frowned in confusion. “What-”

“I wanted to visit with you,” Leia said off-handedly, “Before … everything happened with Ben. We invited you to stay with us, oh, a dozen times when I was staying in London with my husband before he died. After, too.”

Rey flushed and felt the urge to cry return to her (and when would that stop? The feeling as though the tears she’d held back with such ease her whole life, now permanently hot and scalding and ready to boil over at any provocation?). 

“I didn’t-”

“No, of course you didn’t.” Leia clasped her hand and patted it delicately. “And my son’s responses - or lack of response at times - should have told me that more was amiss. But I had lost him a long time before you found him, and I … I only hoped that you were giving him more of a reason to change than his father and I ever could have.”

“I tried,” Rey whispered, mortified at the tears swimming in her eyes. “I tried to help him, I swear, but he-”

“No.” Leia patted her cheek this time. “It wasn’t your job to save my son, Rey. It was his own job, or perhaps mine or Han’s, but - it wasn’t yours. You …. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Rey swallowed. “You … knew?”

“I learned,” Leia said quietly. “My brother told me.”

“Luke.” Rey shivered and thought to the last time she had seen him - nearly catatonic after Cassian had pulled her from the water, she wouldn’t answer any of his questions, and when he offered to take her away, she had only turned her back on him.

He’d written twice in the six months after Ben’s death, but when she hadn’t responded to either, the letters stopped.

“I don’t know what happened the day my son died”- Rey opened her mouth, but Leia held up a wrinkled hand and shook her head- “And I don’t need to know. It’s perhaps better if I … don’t. But you survived, Rey. You - I always wanted…” Leia looked surprisingly emotional, and when Rey touched her elbow, Leia only smiled at her kindly. “I suppose we can talk more about that later. If my sources are correct, you’ve found yourself in a bit of a tricky situation with finances?”

Rey nodded. “The gambling debts-”

Leia made an angry noise, half-cat, half-viper. “My father had the same proclivities as my son, I’m afraid. Luckily, your story ended differently than my mother’s.”

They were briefly quiet as the weight of Leia’s words settled over Rey.

“But, no matter - that letter is for you, and I came to deliver it. I wanted to see the kind of person you were before I handed it to you, and before I made up my own mind about the future, so - please, read it.”

Leia tapped her hands when she hesitated, and Rey unsealed and unfolded the letter, her eyes widening when she recognized the script.

_To my little Rey,_

_I failed you years ago, and I failed you again when my latest adventure took me far away from England once more. However, I find myself at jolly old Oxford once again, and if you had it in your heart to forgive an old, foolish man, I should love to have you as my special guest at the end of summer._

_At this point, you might be wondering why I have not traveled with this letter. The fact is that I know my movements are being watched - I implore you not to dismiss this as the paranoid ditherings of senile man, not when you know the sort of material I have gone looking for since the war’s end, and those who would take issue with my search for it._

“Nazis,” Rey said, looking up, eyes wide. “He’s really been fighting them, stealing back what they took-”

“Keep reading.”

_I also regret to inform you that some of your inheritance went to an organization propped up by sympathizers of the fallen Reich; I have tried my best to track the funds, and they all came back to a name I am sure you are familiar with, whose initials are RS, and whose main solicitor, AH, has had many dealings with you in the past._

“Oh.” Rey clapped a hand to her mouth for fear she’d be sick: _her_ money had been used to - oh, it was too much -

_While these monies might be unrecoverable, there are several other facets to your inheritance that we might be able to use in the courts. And to that end, my sister has brought you something. If you would wish to pursue justice for yourself, you need only ask her. The path will not be an easy one, and you have many reasons to be tired._

_If you choose to go forward, or if you choose to let things remain as they are, you will find yourself surrounded by friends, especially_

_Yours,_

_Luke Skywalker_

Rey read it through twice more, her nausea burning away into unconquerable rage. _How dare they - how dare Ben - how could -_

She thought furiously in those moments, her fingers crinkling the paper, and at last she looked up and saw Leia studying her appraisingly: she hoped it wasn’t only her imagination that she saw pride in Leia’s gaze.

“What did you bring?” Rey asked, her hands shaking. “Luke said you brought something, and I only had to ask if I wanted to move forward.”

Leia wrapped her hands around Rey’s and squeezed, the paper folding into a ball in their shared grip. Her answer was simple, and yet flooded Rey’s system with an overwhelming sense of rightness:

“Hope.”

* * *

July disappeared quickly somehow. Poe felt time’s elasticity in those weeks - how long had he waited for Rey, after all? The person he loved so wholly, who knew the darkest parts of his past and still held him as though he’d never been broken: he had prayed for the right partner his entire life, had dreamed of her in flashes, and now she was here, real and solid and wonderful.

Rather than become languid, the moments in the heat of summer slipped by like a river swelling over its banks. The days were fuller, their laughter more meaningful, their grief deeper and shared, entwined now that they had opened the doors to that grief to each other. It only made sense that Poe measured time differently now, measured it in her smiles and her tears, in the warm nights where their bare skin cooled to the open air and she let him trace infinite patterns with no meaning on her back and sides and arms and stomach.

Rey did not tell him she loved him, and if he were to mark any unpleasant feelings besides anger and sadness for what she had suffered (and she let it slip still in details to him, fragments of horror from her past), Poe would note the brief chords of doubt that ran through him when he whispered his love for her in the dark, and all he received in return was a kiss.

Still, he believed in their happy ending. He knew now how her life had shaped her, and her reasons for hesitance. Poe’s love for her was not fragile, not contingent on her answering voice, not when he could hold her and kiss her and listen to her voice form all the words besides the three he so desperately wanted to hear.

When they weren’t making love in those nights, frantically or sweetly or passionately -- always quietly, given the others in the house -- they whispered to each other about their pasts, about their favorite memories, and once, tentatively, about their future.

It was the last night in July where Poe let it past his guards, and he said out loud, “When I’m sixty, I can’t imagine you’ll still tease me about reading everything I write out loud-”

They were quiet as soon as he said it, and Poe felt his skin crawl with heat. He coughed and glanced at the ceiling, trying to find a way out, but Rey surprised him.

She stroked her hand along his stubble - more a beard now, truthfully - and he could hear the smile in her voice. “When you’re sixty and if you _still_ do that, I shall have to remove you from this home.”

“Even in the snow?” Poe asked, squinting at her through his own smile and wondering if she could _hear_ how his heart might burst with happiness. “You would kick out an old man into the freezing cold?”

“There’s less sympathy for you if I’m fifty in the scenario and having to banish you.”

Poe laughed and then groaned, wrapping his arms around her. Rey laughed too and cuddled to his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. “You at fifty.” Poe sighed dreamily. “With - with grey hair and wrinkles.”

“Stop!” Rey laughed brightly though when he kissed her hair. “You make it sound so dreadful-”

“You’ll be beautiful at fifty,” Poe didn’t have to summon the wistfulness in his voice, “Probably wearing the same apron, and - chasing our fat grandchildren from the kitchen-”

Again, he drew in a breath. That had been entirely too bold because it implied _children_ and had stated _our._

Rey was still this time, and Poe stroked his thumb over her arm, his mouth open to apologize when she cut him off.

“I can’t … have children.”

Poe blinked twice. “I would never ask you to have them, sweetheart,” he soothed. Of course, he’d always wanted to be a father, but if Rey didn’t want them-

“No.” Rey shook her head and pulled away, sitting up, and he could see her wiping at her face. He made a soft noise and followed her, the blanket falling away from them as he sat behind her and kissed her bare shoulder. “I can’t - my body won’t let me. I’ve … There was once or twice where I thought … but everything was so … so difficult with Ben, and I - whenever I - I always lost ...” Rey’s voice shook and she stopped talking.

Poe understood. He kissed her shoulder blade, the top of her spine, resting his face against her back as he whispered, “It’s no matter, Rey, I’m sorry to upset you with being so casual-”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Rey’s voice was hard now, and Poe frowned without lifting his head. He could feel her tense, though. “That I’m - that I can’t - I’m a woman, I should be able to-”

“You are a woman,” Poe agreed, stroking his fingers through hair, sitting up enough to rest his chin on her shoulder. “The woman I love. And having children or not, doesn’t change any of that.”

“You don’t want to be a father?”

He rubbed his nose on her neck softly, and kissed the skin there. “I do, but - I want you, Rey. I want a life with you, however that looks.” 

He swallowed for fear of that statement being too much, but Rey leaned into him, drawing his arms around her now. They sank back against the pillows, her back tucked into his front, and Poe did nothing but kiss what he could for a few moments while Rey clearly worked something through in her head.

Then, in her most obvious, definite reference to their future that he had heard yet, Rey murmured, “I had always thought I should like to adopt.”

“Oh?” Poe stroked her hair back from her face and sat up enough to kiss the corner of her jaw. 

Rey nodded. “I was adopted by my Ollie, after all. And - and Jyn and Cassian had wanted to adopt me, and … and I want to do that, too. I … I think … _we_ could both be good parents to someone who needed us.”

He was crying before she finished talking. Poe only nodded and pressed his lips to her cheek - she felt his tears and turned over, crooning softly, holding her arms open to him, and it was for want of comfort and connection and closeness that Poe slipped between her legs and pushed inside her, their mouths pressed together as they gasped together - 

Both aware and agreeing that they no longer cared for the obstacle that had always been between them, only wanting to fully touch each other, Rey whispering to him how much she wanted to feel him inside her.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses, the truth of it unspooling through him as liquid hot and real as Rey felt around him.

Rey wrapped her arms around him, adding to his feeling of being fully surrounded and safe, and kissed his cheek and then his ear when he pressed his face to her neck and moved faster, her breath coming in sharp staccatos as he tried to show her the truth of his feelings.

For one, staggering moment, they felt as blissfully _one_ as Poe thought people could be: he saw stars at the same time he heard and felt her shift and fall too, and they kissed through the end of it, shivering and sweating and touching each other tenderly, eyes locked on the other’s as their pulses settled and skin cooled once more.

Poe counted Rey’s heartbeats while he held her after, each sound treasured, and told himself it was the most important thing he could hear then, or ever. And for then, it was.

* * *

With Leia designating herself Rey’s special attorney when fighting for what remained of her inheritance, and for digging through the hundreds of files and papers that were stuffed in boxes in the attic or hidden in Ben’s old office, Rey’s days were full, and Poe often spent time with Finn and Jannah and Rose.

But, Finn’s time was now divided between here and London, where his father was helping close a deal on a house that would become a family home, and to Poe’s surprise, Jannah and Rose did not seem to mind or miss his company too terribly.

In fact, if he had to guess, Rose and Jannah … enjoyed their own solitude.

He saw them stumble apart in the first week of August when he walked up behind them on the path, and Poe cleared his throat to give them an alert that he was approaching. Rose was bright pink as her namesake, and Jannah looked painfully defiant, and Poe determinedly did not comment on the compromising position he had caught them in -

But, when he walked away from their awkward, brief conversation, he looked them both in the eye and promised his discretion. “I’d never tell anyone,” he swore.

Rose nodded, looking relieved, but Jannah still stared at him. “Not even Rey?”

“I-” Poe closed his mouth, knowing he’d be a hypocrite to deny it. “I don’t know if your business is something I’d ever need or want to share with her.” He held his hand out to Jannah, who took it warily. “I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to protect your secret until you choose to share it.”

And that was that. 

It was at the end of the second week of August that he left Rey scouring through the contents of a previously locked chest that Rose had picked in five seconds flat (Leia looking on with definite admiration) and headed into town on his own.

The sun was bright and hot on his neck as he turned towards the sea for a moment, and he watched the waves churn below. The water that had nearly taken everything from him before he even knew what everything was; the water that had given her back.

Poe swallowed and shook his head, wondering at how Rey could manage to live so close to this place when he knew her fear of the water and of boats and anything to do with the Channel, before he walked on, hands in his pockets.

He waved at Maz and shouted a greeting at Chewie, laughing as kids ran past him: it wasn’t Texas or Miami or anything he’d grown up around, but it was beginning, in its own way, to feel like a home. 

Because he had someone he loved here, now: this place had helped him to heal, and it had brought him to Rey. And home was about people, not place. 

Poe smiled and shook his head and jogged up the steps to the post office to see if there were any parcels for him to collect.

He paid for a small package for Rey and collected a telegram from Lando, Finn and Jannah’s father, and then, surprised, took a letter addressed to him from the postal worker.

Poe hummed to himself as he walked out into the bright day, his attention caught briefly on a kite flashing overhead as three young children ran by laughing. Thinking of his conversation with Rey two weeks earlier, Poe smiled and got lost in a story in his head, where they had children swarming the grounds at Hope Cottage, underfoot and screaming and driving them both mad in the best way, Finn and Jannah and Rose and Leia there too, and helping them out of course, there would be his father.

His father, who had sent him a letter - Poe unsealed the letter as his feet carried him out of town and back up the path towards the cottage. He was still humming as he shook the paper out with one hand, Rey’s package tucked under the other arm.

Poe scanned the letter and felt his blood turn to ice; the only thing he could register was the dull sound of the package hitting the dirt beneath his feet, and the distant sound of roaring waves growing louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN I'm sorry I missed two updates last week, but work has been crazy and my migraines have been off the charts from stress and weather changes.
> 
> ANYWAY no more excuses only apologies because today really should have been the end of this fic, but now we have THREE more chapters and an epilogue (chapter 29). this chapter has a bit of a cliffhanger although I'm SURE You noted the date AND you might have an idea for what's about to happen.
> 
> The next chapter reveals what the letter said as well as some other narrative-tying excerpts and passages.
> 
> Chapter 27 has a fight/argument, the chapter after that has some more angst, and the last chapter ... well, I'll be honest with you, it ALSO has angst, and the last 700 words made me cry harder than anything I've ever written before so ... anyway .... we're officially in the endgame now! Love to hear some thoughts, and sorry again for all the delays meepemeep


	26. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small moment in 2015; a letter from the desk of Leia Organa, a personal letter from Rey to Finn; a note attached to Leia Organa's will; a letter from Kes Dameron to Poe Dameron, August 1951

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!
> 
> this is a little shorter but it's intended to fill in some gaps of knowledge and no doubt confirm some theories of yours!!!
> 
>  **very limited warnings:**  
>  Implied that Leia dies (but in the future and at the age of 78)  
> References to near-fatal heart attack; implied terminal cardiac illness

* * *

(May 20, 2015)

“Nana?”

Rey blinked and looked up from the photo album. “What is it, dear?”

Resa leaned over and poked at a black and white photo in the top corner. “Is that who I think it is?”

Chuckling, Rey’s withered fingers shakily pulled the photograph free from the protective plastic. They both looked at the photo, one of them smiling, the other more contemplative.

“He was so handsome.” Resa traced the curls of hair without touching the delicate photo paper. “He looks a lot like Tio-”

“Of course he does.” Rey laughed again. “Exactly like him, in fact. If I hadn’t been there myself, I don’t think I would know that I had anything to do with his birth.”

Resa laughed too and leaned into Rey’s side; a strange amount of strength emanated out from the frail old woman despite her physical delicacy. Her white hair so much wispier than it was in the photograph they’d looked at earlier of her on her second wedding day, where her hair had been loose and around her shoulders, flowers woven into a crown of braids. She tried not to lean too hard into Rey’s side for fear of hurting her, but her great-grandmother didn’t seem to mind. 

Her great-grandfather smiled up from the past, his dark eyes bright and cheeks clear of the beard that Resa had always seen in his photos from after her mother’s birth. His hair was short, and he wore his hat proudly.

“He was a pilot, right, Nana?”

“The best pilot.” Nana’s finger stroked over his handsome face. “But that was long before I even knew him. I think he always missed flying.”

“But he had you.” Resa smiled at Nana Rey when she looked over at her. “Who needs the sky, right?”

Rey’s eyes - which had once been green, Resa’s abuela had insisted, green and brown and beautiful - grew watery, the brown duller than they must have been on her wedding day, or the day she met Táta.

“He said something very similar to me.” Nana Rey examined the photo with a quiet intensity, her husband’s youthful face smiling up at her, and she didn’t say anything for a long time.

Resa’s throat grew tight, and she tapped her Nana’s shoulder tentatively. “Nana? Is something wrong?”

Her great-grandmother blinked and then shook her head, closing the album but keeping the photo, which she tucked carefully in the pocket of her linen trousers. “Nothing is wrong, dear. It - it was quite a bit _right,_ actually.” She handed the album to Resa carefully, but her hands still shook from the strain of holding up the object. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Resa nodded and got up, kneeling to tuck the album back in place on the right shelf in the study, which was bursting with photographs and books - written by her great-grandfather, her mother, _and hopefully one day herself_ , she thought shyly - and then offered a hand to her Nana to help her stand. 

“Let’s go to the beach?”

“That sounds wonderful, dear. Maybe after I get some rest?”

Resa nodded and helped Rey walk to the door where her walker was waiting. “Sounds good.”

* * *

(Letter of Business, September 5, 1951)

_Dear Mr. Snoke,_

_If you will not respond to my correspondence which dates back several weeks, we will have to take this matter to court earlier than anticipated._

_My client will not stand for being ignored a day longer. Your silence is as damning as the receipts that stretch out longer than those golden rags you call a robe. Respond, or find yourself before a judge. I hear M. Mothma is hearing cases again._

_Sincerely,_

_Leia Naberrie-Organa_

* * *

(Personal Letter, July 1, 1959)

_Finn:_

_You’re an uncle_ _again_ _!_

_Shan seems happy to be a big sister._

_All our love to J &R, and don’t forget to get your butt down here to meet baby P. _

_Love,_

_Rey_

* * *

(Notice, Attached to Last Will and Testament of Leia Organa (1892-1970)

_There’s official documents and all that, but to whomever this may concern and whatever godawful relatives might have climbed out of the woodwork to try and claim some bullshit inheritance at the reading of my will -_

_The houses of Naberrie in the south of France, the inheritance left to me by my mother which is half mine and half my brother’s, God rest his soul, the house in London, and the one in Philadelphia, are all going to Rey Kenobi, formerly Rachel Palpatine-Solo, born Rachel Palpatine, known colloquially at times as Rey Kenobi-Dameron, but who is and always will be my sole heir. _

_Don’t even_ _think_ _of trying anything else._

_x_ Leia Naberrie-Organa-Solo _

* * *

(Personal Letter, August 9 1951, translated from Spanish)

_Poe,_

_I’ve given the doctors here a bit of a scare. It appears I’ve had something they call a “myocardial infarction,” or to anyone who doesn’t have a medical degree,a heart attack. I tried telling them I’m fine as I’m barely 60 and haven’t smoked in a decade, but they are convinced that I keep having smaller attacks and are insisting on keeping me here to rest._

_I won’t lie to you and tell you the outlook is good. They do not think I will be able to shake this, and there isn’t much to do besides sit here and rest and hope that the next chest pain won’t be the last one. I don’t want you to worry about me, mijo. You stay there and woo your sweetheart, and I’ll stay here and tell my own heart that it has to keep beating so I can meet my future daughter-in-law._

_As you can see I’m trying to stay positive about this, but if you do not get another letter from me, know that I have loved you from the moment I learned of your impending existence from your mother. You are the best part of my life, mijo, and I’m so glad to have seen you become a man._

_With all my love,_

_Kes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR READING and for everyone who's shared their support!
> 
> sorry it's short, but I'm really trying to set up the last three chapters which will be real humdingers. Chapter 28/29 will be similar to this chapter where it's part narrative and part-letters!
> 
> I'd love to hear your final thoughts: Chapter 27 will post on Wednesday and it's going to be, in a word, upsetting.


	27. Parting Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe delivers terrible news to Rey, and they find themselves at an impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, work is still hell but then I remembered it was Wednesday and I wasn't able to write this until an hour ago, so sorry it's late in the day.
> 
> WARNINGS:
> 
> discussions of parental illness/possible death of a parent (Kes/cardiac disease)
> 
> Angst angst angst angst + fighting
> 
> Rey suggests that Poe might potentially, secretly also be an abuser (she's just speculating and sad/angry and says "what if you are too" - she doesn't actually accuse him of being abusive/doing anything abusive)
> 
> I tried my absolute best to not make it seem like Poe was at all *pressuring* Rey into giving him an answer to anything, especially the answer he *wanted* - but he will, honestly, ask her to tell him what she truly thinks and feels (because he needs validation and then closure) and they're both an emotional mess. And. Well, you'll see.

* * *

Rey did not expect to find Poe already returned from town when she came back from a stroll with Leia.

Nor did she expect to find him frantically cramming the last of his journals into his suitcase.

She felt cold all over when she came to the door of her room (which had been _theirs_ of late) and watched him latch the last fastening; when he looked up and saw her there, it was impossible for him to hide the tears in his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he began shakily, wiping a tear away with his thumb,“I-”

“You’re leaving.” Rey stared at him in disbelief, her stomach already churning. “Were you - without saying -”

“No.” Poe shook his head and stumbled forward, reaching out for her, and Rey didn’t move towards him, too cold, too scared. “No, ‘f course not, but-”

“But.” Rey crossed her arms. “But what?”

“M-my-” Poe coughed weakly and then handed her a crumpled piece of paper that he’d been holding tightly in his hand. 

All he could do was sob harshly before wiping his face and going back to his things, back to packing, and it was only her natural curiosity that compelled her to unfold the letter in her hand.

She skimmed it quickly before covering her mouth in shock. “Oh, Poe.” Her coldness faded away to simply fear, and she held her arms out to him. ‘Oh-”

Poe was still sobbing when he walked into her embrace, and they did nothing but clutch each other tightly for a moment, Rey stroking her hands over his back, through his hair, murmuring some nonsense to him. 

“You’re leaving to -” Rey swallowed back her own tears and stepped back to hold his face in her hands. “Now?”

“Now.” Poe cleared his throat and wiped his eyes again. “I can’t w--” He shook his head, turning his cheek into her palm. His fingers curled lightly around her forearm, and he kissed the inside of her wrist delicately before looking up at her plaintively. “ _Rey_.”

Her name was a broken mumble in his voice, a prayer she couldn’t answer, that she didn’t have the answer to. 

The world was spinning viciously around her, and tears kept blurring her vision. She could feel her heartbeat in her eyes as she was torn between a powerful urge to beg him to stay and a crushing realization that she’d never be able to. He had to go to his father. Staying wasn’t something she could ask him to do. 

“Poe, I-”

He shocked her further. “Come with me.”

The world spun more terribly around her, and Rey needed it to be _still,_ she needed it to be _quiet,_ why were waves the only thing she could hear, crashing down on her again and again and again -

“I can’t.” Rey shook her head and clasped his hands. “I c-can’t - I can’t leave this place, not when - Leia and I are so -”

“Please.” Poe never really begged for anything. He rarely asked twice on any subject. She knew he meant it, was urgent in his meaning - “Please come with me, I d-don’t want to leave y-”

“Don’t say it.” Rey let him step in and press his forehead to hers, if only because it meant she could close her eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening for a minute longer. “Don’t say it and then turn around and do it anyway-”

“I’m not leaving, I’m going,” Poe said desperately, taking a half-step back but still clutching at her tightly. “There’s a difference-”

“Of course there is.” Rey opened his hand and put the letter back in his palm, curling his fingers over it. “There’s all the difference in the world, but you still won’t be here-”

“Leia can keep working while you’re gone, I just - I c-can’t … if he’s-” Poe shook his head and blinked away tears. “I can’t face that a-alone, but if y-you’re with me … I can do anything, I know it.”

Rey’s heart shattered, and she felt her face crumple. Poe saw her expression and sobbed again before hanging his head. “I can’t do this with you,” she whispered. “I can’t - Poe, I can barely look at boats, I can’t _be_ on one for that long-”

He nodded, but his posture was decaying steadily; a hand left her arm and went to drag through his hair, and she could see a tear leave his face and fall. She felt as though she could drown all over again in the slip of water it left on the floor. And still the room spun.

“N-no, I - I know, ‘m sorry to ask it of you, I just - I love you, so much -”

“Poe.” Rey kissed his forehead, then his cheek, tracing a tear track down as she threaded her fingers through his hair and felt him cry more. 

She didn’t want to say goodbye to him. But she was going to have to. 

Poe’s breathing steadied, and he kissed her hands again before taking a step back.

The world crashed to a halt as Poe got down on one knee.

“What are you doing?” Rey asked, her voice broken and trembling. “Poe, what are you-”

“Something I’m sure of,” Poe said, equally broken, his eyes red but imploring. He held up a ring he often wore around his neck - his mother’s ring. Not even two weeks ago, he had whispered the story of it to her in the bed he was now kneeling in front of. “I’ve been sure of it, I promise, I -”

“No.” Rey shook her head. “Stand up - Poe, stand up-”

“Rey,” Poe cleared his throat and the ring stayed between them, the beautiful afternoon sun shining through the window and illuminating the silver. “I - I love you, and I want forever with you. Will you marry me-”

“I can’t.” Rey needed to vomit. She needed to run from the room. “Poe, please stand up-”

He did. 

His eyes were wary as he did, and the ring disappeared inside his fingers as he retracted his hand. Rey felt the air in her lungs shake as she drew in a breath.

“I can’t,” she repeated faintly. “I - I barely know you.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It is!” Rey scoffed. “It’s been _three months_ Poe. And we’ve only been together for what, a month?”

“That’s long enough,” Poe insisted. “I’m so sure of this Rey, sure of _us_ -”

“I’m not.” She hated how crushed he looked at that, but fear and terror and _experience_ screamed at her. She sucked in another ragged breath. “I cannot marry a man this quickly again. I can’t!”

Understanding flickered in his eyes; she hated it. Hated it, suddenly, that he had so many pieces of her that he could hurt her with, too. _They barely knew each other_ -

A small voice begged her to stop: reminded her that Poe _was_ gentle, his moods predictable, his voice kind, his hands warm and never harsh -

She silenced the voice quickly, as Poe tried to say something.

“Rey. Sweetheart, I-”

“No!” Rey held a hand up, and he stopped talking, retreated backwards, deflating as he moved. 

And still his suitcase sat on the bed. She hated the fucking thing. Hated the words coming out of her mouth. Hated the truth of them.

“I cannot live with another man who hurts me,” Rey snapped, “I cannot bear to discover that you - that you’ve been like him all along-”

“That isn’t fair-”

“No! It isn’t!” Rey felt her voice rising higher and higher, and she wanted to _scream,_ but she barely held the instinct back. “It isn’t, but I’ve done it before, and I cannot marry another Jekyll only to discover that he has a Hyde -”

“This isn’t a story!” Poe half-shouted, and it was the first he’d ever raised his voice except in good spirits with Finn. “It isn’t - fucking _Christ_ Rey, that’s a story-”

“You _love_ stories -”

“I love _writing_ them, but - but this isn’t that kind of story! This isn’t some Gothic horror, _not anymore._ You escaped that story, don’t you see? You - I respect you Rey, I don’t _want_ you to live in that hell ever again, but - I’m _not_ Ben-”

“You could become him.” Rey felt herself deflate suddenly and her chin wobbled dangerously. “You could - you could be just like him, kind for months and then suddenly-”

“He was never kind.” Poe was equally crushed now, both of them quieted and both of them already grieving what was so quickly collapsing between them. “He wasn’t. He - Men don’t work like that. They just don’t. The man you married was _one_ man. Fully a monster. Even if he could hide it for a while. And everything he did to you was monstrous,” his voice broke, again, around the word, and both of them took half-sobbing breaths, “And I wish to _God_ he was alive so I could kill him again and that’s the most violent thought I’ve ever had in my life.” 

Rey squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with her hand; Poe didn’t move forward, but his words reached her all the same and slipped under her defenses and wrapped around her soul.

“But it’s not a story, Rey. It doesn’t work like that. I can’t punish him for what he did to you; but I understand you aren’t punishing me by not … I understand. I wish it were different, but -”

“I can’t,” Rey whispered again. “I -”

They were both quiet, and eventually Rey lowered her hand and saw that Poe was standing by his luggage, his hand loosely covering the handle. His shoulders were shaking.

She wanted to hold him. She wanted to take it all back. She knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t.

“Do you - can you trust me?” 

Poe looked at her, and his eyes burned a hole through her. She had always felt so beautiful in his gaze: she wondered if he still thought she was, now that he had truly seen the raw, broken parts of her anger. 

“I-” Rey wasn’t sure how to answer. She wanted to trust him. She thought she could. And, as always, she thought it might be a mistake to trust anyone.

“I want to,” was the answer she settled on.

Poe exhaled roughly and took his luggage off the bed and took a step towards her again. Rey wrapped her arms around her middle protectively - not that she thought he would walk towards her and hurt her, but because she knew it would hurt her when he walked past her.

She covered her mouth to try and push back the sob that escaped. Of course he heard.

“We don’t have to get married.” His voice was hollow, and it reverberated inside her, in the valleys and barely healing scars that still littered her heart. “Three months isn’t enough time for - of course not - but, I have to go.” He took another step towards her, and another, until he touched her elbow gently, and all she wanted to do was step into his arms and freeze time, keep him here selfishly forever.

“My father is probably dying.” Poe paused for a long moment as he tried to control himself, but she saw him begin to cry again, the real, full tears that didn’t interrupt speech because they came so naturally, being drawn from the well of hurt that had so quickly opened up inside of him. “He’s dying - I need to be _there_ , even if my heart is … is here, with you. Do you understand?”

Rey nodded miserably. “Of course I do. Y-you have to leave.”

“But I want to come back.” A painful sliver of hope fluttered in her chest -

She saw it before he spoke again; saw it stretching out far, agonized, tortured in front of them both, a path that she would drag him down. A path with endless branches and hidden danger, a path where she might not ever be able to trust her own judgement or believe that she wouldn’t be trapped again - he’d cross the Atlantic twice for the chance at nothing but her own fear and grief and what mangled pieces of her heart she’d be able to give him.

With her love, she would only ever hurt him. Unless she found her own way out of the maze she hadn’t created but had allowed herself to stay in. She needed time. That was what she needed: time to find her own way out of this mess in her head and her heart. They both needed more time.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Poe continued, even as she saw the tremulous line of their future stretch out to the end of their lives - and then collapse into dust as she remembered how much she still had to escape in her own mind. “And I’ll come back, sweetheart - but the way you’re talking - please, tell me … tell me if there’s anything for me to come back to.”

If she answered yes, she’d hurt him later; if she answered no, she’d hurt him now. And Rey didn’t want to live in a world where she hurt him because - oh, of course now she realized that she -

“Rey.” Poe eyed the clock behind her and touched her cheek gently; she closed her eyes and let herself linger in the warmth of his touch for a moment. Just a moment more where she could pretend to belong to him fully. Where she was allowed to. “Sweetheart, please - is there? Is there anything for me here - for _us_ -?” Silence, still, but she opened her eyes and looked into his and the pain had already gripped him. It echoed through her, amplified a thousand times by guilt and grief and rage at herself and what had led her to this bitter indecision-

“I really have to make it to town,” Poe said brokenly. “The next boat-”

“Take the one after,” Rey said hoarsely. “We - we can talk more, I don’t know what to say-”

“Say that you-” Poe snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, stroking his fingers delicately over her cheekbone, sliding his hand through her hair as he studied her face desperately.

Rey mirrored his touch - let her fingers trail over his cheeks and against his jaw, slid them over the fringe of curls that hung over his ears. But his touch was of desperation; hers was an attempt to memorize. 

“Stay a little longer,” Rey allowed herself to beg. “Please-”

“I can’t,” Poe croaked out, his thumb stroking over her cheek as he curled his fingers in her hair; he brought up his other hand to frame her face tenderly. “I can’t, there’s only this one today and - what if I miss it? What if I miss the boat, and I leave tomorrow morning a-and Kes - what if he dies?”

Rey’s lip trembled, and Poe ran his fingertips of his left hand over it gently as he shook his head. “What if I never see him again? I can’t, sweetheart, please. If you can, if you know - tell me now, tell me that you know how you feel about me-

She shook her head, crying now because the sliver of hope in her chest had curled up and no reserve of strength could make her overleap the barrier around her heart that she had tried her best to ignore when she lay in his arms and took him into her body and let herself falsely imagine a future that could clearly never be hers -

“Rey.” One last time, her name. A broken prayer.

He kissed her once, sweetly.

“Please?” Poe whispered against her lips. 

Rey shook her head, and Poe nodded, his lips still pressed to hers, his eyes heartbroken. He kissed her again, then kissed her forehead, both of them crying bitterly.

He took a step back, and looked at her one last time, searchingly, and Rey leaned forward onto her toes, wanting to tilt and fall into his arms, but her stance and her spine kept her upright, chin high as he adjusted his grip on his luggage and nodded one last time.

He walked past her, and Rey clapped a hand to her mouth so he couldn’t hear her sob.

For a moment he paused at the door. 

“Goodbye sweetheart.”

Rey said nothing, not trusting herself to stay strong if she looked at him or tried to speak to him.

He was gone. She could feel it in every particle of her body that he had gone.

Sinking to the bed, still made neatly from Poe rising that morning - that morning where they had held and kissed each other - Rey let herself cry, fully broken hearted. 

Her limbs wouldn’t move for nearly three quarters of an hour; all she could do was periodically curl her fingers in the pillowcase, and then uncurl them. Her heart tumbled in her chest and then tangled in her ribs, thrashing in what were surely its last beats.

“This will not destroy me,” Rey whispered to herself, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. “I have suffered worse than this-”

And yet the tears still came, and her anger at herself only grew.

When she heard the rest of her friends return from their walk, Rey rose and went down the stairs - there were concerned questions after her health - no doubt given her disheveled appearance - but Rey paid them no mind.

Instead, she broke into a sprint and ran as hard as she could, her skirts tangling around her legs until she gathered them in her hand and ran harder, mud splashing around her calves, the air burning in her lungs. 

The world shook mightily around her as she ran, as though she were causing quakes with each step, but it did nothing to slow her down. 

Rey went south, half-sobbing, half-panting, running flat out for nearly ten minutes, and then stumbled to a halt, nearly tumbling off the bluff. She slapped a hand to a rocky outcrop and balanced herself, gasping for breath as she looked out to the grey-blue water before her.

And there it was: a boat heading up the coast, to where it would wrap around to the western coast of England and then across the Ocean. 

“No,” Rey whispered before shouting it. “No-”

He was gone. And even if she screamed the words echoing in her heart - _come back, come back, please come back_ \- he would not hear her.

Poe Dameron had left. She would never see him again. 

Defeated, Rey watched the boat until it disappeared into the line of the horizon, a small flash of the setting sun on metal - and then he was gone.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmmmmm
> 
> would you look at that? only two chapters left. hm. hmm. hmmmm. hm hm .hm. um. hm.
> 
> Uh.
> 
> Updates tomorrow? Maybe?


	28. Love Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resa and Rey go through some of the last love letters in Rey's collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The official beginning of the end. This is a short one, but the next one will be long and not so much an epilogue as a coda
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  Angst  
> Implications of abuse (OC/hinted at)

* * *

(Poem - from Personal Journal of P. Dameron, October 5, 1957)

_To my daughter -_

_There might be days where you wonder_

_If the sun that shines on you_

_Shines less warmly than on another._

_But I will tell you then_

_What I’m telling you today:_

_A tree that is uprooted_

_And takes to the soil of a new forest_

_Is a tree of its first forest_

_And the next._

_They are both its home,_

_The tree belongs to both,_

_And the sun loves it_

_For where it’s been_

_And for where it stands now._

_It shines as strong and warm and sweet_

_As it would on any other tree that grew in the forest._

_I will tell you each day_

_That the sun is yours_

_Like I am yours_

_And you are mine._

* * *

(Personal Letter, November 10, 1957)

_Leia,_

_Shannon seems happier now. She reminds me so much of myself at that age: angry, curious, and of course, sad._

_It’s only been two months, and I love her as if I’ve loved her for her entire life, or my entire life. I think when she is settled more, it would be lovely if you were to join us for Christmas. I would like for her to meet her grandmother._

_Love,_

_Rey_

* * *

(Personal Letter, November 11, 1962)

_Light of my life,_

_Good morning. I think this is the first time I’ve woken up before you since little P was born._

_Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you a birthday present_ _and_ _an anniversary present. What am I saying? You wouldn’t care about either - at least, you’d be sweet as hell to me and pretend you didn’t care if I forgot one or both. But I’ve been a wreck planning it for weeks now._

 _I can hear you smirking at me, dear. How mean, to smirk at your old, grumpy husband! You’d think after_ _ten_ _years of marriage, I woulda figured this out more by now! But each day with you is a new adventure, and every year is another blessing I never could have expected from this universe._

_Leia’s got the kids, and I’ve got a hankering for some croissants - whaddya say? Wanna escape to Paris for the weekend?_

_I’ll be waiting outside,_

_All my love,_

_P.D._

_P.S. I love you. I’m going to tell you anyway the second I see you, but I felt like writing it too._

* * *

(Personal Letter, November 11, 1977)

_Darling girl,_

_My joints barely work anymore, and now we’re officially grandparents and everything, and my hair is basically all grey, and you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. How is this fair? Yes, yes, you’re a decade younger than I am. I should have considered this injustice when we got married! Me, aging like Dorian Gray’s portrait. You, aging like a fine wine._

_Injustice, I say._

_Twenty-five years, and I still have no idea how I convinced you to marry me in the first place. I pinch myself sometimes when I wake up, you know that? Of course you know. You know everything. I love that about you. I’m married to Rey Kenobi, and she’s the smartest damn woman on the planet._

_Thank you for our beautiful children, and our beautiful home, and our beautiful life. And, thank you for not shoving me out the window for snoring._

_All my love, always,_

_P.D._

_P.S. There’s a new movie playing in town at a matinee. Something about stars? Could be good: can I take you on a date?_

* * *

(Personal Letter, July 2, 2007)

_Angel of the galaxy,_

_The kids showed me these weird little things called … emojims? Emoji. That sounds … well, it all sounds_ _ridiculous_! _I keep reminding them to go easy on me because I’m an old, frail man - lived through two world wars, I did, and I still got all my original teeth! - and they just laugh and say I’m too handsome to be 92!_

_Alright, alright, they don’t say that part._

_Anyway, here is my “Emoji” of the day. ;D_

_It’s a wink! Get it!?_

_And you use it like this: my wife is sexy ;D_

_I can already feel you scowling at me. God Almighty, I love you!_

_P.D._

_P.S. You look beautiful today ;D_

* * *

(June 7, 2015)

“He wrote you letters almost every day.” Resa looked up from the pile of envelopes and folded paper in front of her, nearly dizzy from counting them all.

Nana Rey looked up with a mysterious smile. “I guess he did.”

“And he’s - he’s so in love with you.” Resa traced the last one she’d read, feeling a burning in her throat like she was about to do something stupid like cry. “In all of these, he’s … he was so in love with you.”

“Yes.” Nana smiled and patted Resa’s hand with her gnarled fingers. “He really was.”

Resa swallowed back her tears and looked at Nana from where she was curled up on the floor. Nana stared back, her gaze nearly piercing. “How did you know?’

“How did I know what, dear?”

“How did you know that - that he was in love with you?” Resa set the letter down and stared at the floor. “How did you know that he wasn’t …”

“That he wasn’t like my first husband?” Resa glanced up, guiltily, but Nana was still smiling. She patted Resa’s cheek this time. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t know?” Resa’s skin itched uncomfortably as she tried to figure out what to say - but it all still hurt so much. She’d trusted Tim, and he’d - he’d, just like that, he’d - “But then, why did you marry him?”

“I didn’t know _at first,_ ” Nana corrected herself serenely, and didn’t look away from Resa’s face. “And then - why, I won’t say I woke up one day and realized it. But it came on me, slow and then all at once, that he was the best man I’d ever known. He showed me, time and again, and - I almost lost him while I was waiting for my heart to heal enough to let him in.”

“You almost lost him?” Resa blinked in confusion. “But - he seems so sure -”

“I let him go.” Rey sighed and then seemed to retreat somewhere in her mind. Resa waited patiently and instead packed up some of the loose papers on the floor - after the last months here at the Cottage, she was used to Rey’s lapses into the past. 

She wasn’t confused, the way some old people were. And honestly, Resa had been afraid of that when she’d come here, was afraid that Rey would be senile and dotty and act like old people. But. She’d been wrong. She was wrong about a lot of things, not least of all in her expectations for old people. Rey was complex, and funny, and so much more than Resa had thought she could be - and she saw now, that it was her own fear that made her think that Rey would be anything less than who she was. 

No, Nana Rey wasn’t confused: but, she spent a good deal of time remembering, or trying to remember, and her mind did take her places that Resa couldn’t see. But, she’d be patient and wait for Rey to come back. She always did.

“Two months without any word from him,” Rey said as Resa placed the last ten letters they’d looked at back in their place in the fireproof box. “That’s what it took to kick me in the ass.”

“Nana!”

Rey chuckled. “What? You think that word is a new invention?”

Laughing, Resa shook her head and offered a hand to Rey, who stood up shakily. Resa pulled her walker towards them and Rey gripped it, her mouth working over some words before she spoke again.

“When he was near me, it was easy to tell myself … to convince myself that he - he would be cruel. Because I realized I loved him, and … I loved him so much it hurt.” Rey paused when they reached the door, and they gazed out towards the trees. 

The driveway curved up to the gatehouse now, with a renovated fence that blocked off traffic from the small road that led up towards town. Rey’s car - which she hadn’t personally driven in ten years - was parked, and packed with things to go to the beach with. The smell of salt was carried in by a warm breeze, and distantly a sea bird cried, and they both turned to it and smiled.

An objective passerby would note how similar their smiles were: peaceful, but hard-earned.

“I suppose you know about that,” Nana Rey said gently, and Resa stiffened before nodding, still looking south to where the sea lay.

A hand on her arm startled her slightly.

“Listen to me,” Nana said, in a way that was not urgent and yet still so important. Resa found that it was very easy to listen to her. “There will be good partners, and bad partners, and they will come in different ways with different faces. But there is a _difference_ between love that hurts, and love that hurts you.”

Tears formed in Resa’s eyes before she could do what she normally did, before she could pinch her thigh or inside her forearm to distract from how bad the ache inside her got, how bad the scars still throbbed even though they should have been healed by now.

“Do you understand?” Rey asked, placing her arthritic hand in Resa’s.

Resa curled her fingers around Rey’s hand and nodded. “I understand.”

“Do not let the love that hurt you stop you from feeling a love that hurts.” Rey could barely squeeze Resa’s hand, given the lack of strength in her grip, but Resa felt it threading through her all the same, a touch that reverberated back to behind her heart where the ache started and wouldn’t stop. “You deserve that love, dear. And you cannot allow it to be taken away.”

“I -” Resa nodded, and found that she couldn’t speak. 

Rey smiled though, and nodded at Resa’s pocket. “Your phone.”

How Nana Rey knew Resa’s phone was vibrating when she could barely feel it was beyond her understanding: the woman’s hearing and sight wasn’t what it once was, but she was sharper than a tack -

“Oh.” Resa smiled and then pulled it out. “Would you look at that - Tio Poe’s down at the beach.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go and say hello.”

* * *

(Personal Letter, Unsent, October 1951)

_I miss you so much I want to scream._

_Dad’s better now. The doctors don’t want him to eat any red meat, or drink, or smoke ever again, and Kes insists they’re going to ban air next. So, at least his spirits are up._

_I miss you, and part of me wants to be tough and say that I can’t wait for you. But I will. I’ll wait for you, my love, I will._

_I will wait for you until the moon fades away. I will wait for you until the mountains crumble to dust. I will wait for you until the sun dies and the earth stops spinning and the waves no longer return to the shore._

_I’ll wait until I’m a hundred and two, and even then, I’d wait._

_I miss you, and it hurts, and it won’t stop hurting. I could never love anyone else when it feels as though my chest has been ripped in half. I love you. Only you. Even if I never see you again. I love you, and that will never change._

_All my love. My entire heart. My soul is_

_Yours,_

_Poe_

_P.S. if I’m brave enough to send this, give my love to Henrietta._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ................................
> 
> One chapter left, guys. I really, really hope you're buckled in and ready. Thank you as always to those of you who are taking the time to comment/leave kudos/send messages. I've been nothing but crying as I write the end of this, and I ... well, I hope you love the ending as much as I've come to love it.
> 
> Last call for theories and concerns and thoughts etc. etc.


	29. An Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last pages of Poe and Rey's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the last chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and I think it might go without saying, but just in case:
> 
>  **warning**  
>  Angst / Grief

* * *

(Personal Letter: Composed August 3, 2012)

[Envelope Inscription: DELIVER TO: REY KENOBI ON NOVEMBER 11, 2012]

_ Happy Anniversary, my love. _

_ You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I know this isn’t what you expected for our sixtieth anniversary. I know we didn’t expect a lot of things. I’m sorry I can’t write more - my hands don’t work so well anymore, and I would need ten thousand words to even begin to tell you how I feel. _

_ All my love. Always, forever, _

_ Yours, _

_ Poe _

_ P.S. Give my love to Prospero, would you? I’ll give yours to Shannon. _

* * *

(2015)

She could hear the waves before they cleared the buff. The windows to the car were rolled down, bringing in the smell of brine, a saltiness that settled Resa’s near-constant anxiety.

Resa thought Nana Rey was sleeping as she drove them closer to the water, but then she saw her lips twitch upward in a smile when the sun reappeared from behind a cloud and shone down on her face.

“What are you thinking?” Resa asked as she put the car in park. 

Rey opened her eyes, and gazed out at the water before she answered. “The sun. I always thought - well, my Poe was an awful lot like the sun.”

Resa smiled and then got out of the car to grab Rey’s chair; she mostly lifted Rey out of her car seat and settled her in the new one. It was easy to push her over the asphalt, but harder once they got to the rocky sand. 

“Do you see him?” Rey asked quietly, her eyes closed again and her face tilted up to the sun.

“Not yet.” Resa drummed her fingers on the handles of Rey’s chair. “I think I see where he’s set up, though.” 

There were a few towels and an umbrella nearer to the cliffs, out of the way of most wind. 

Something wiggled in the back of Resa’s mind. “Nana?”

“What is it, dear?”

“Are there any more letters after the anniversary ones?” 

They’d reached those yesterday, and Rey could only do one at a time for obvious reasons. Resa didn’t mind: it continued the project longer, and she liked looking through her family’s history.

Resa studied the waterline; seagulls wheeled overhead and the waves crashed in and dragged back out three times before Rey answered.

“Yes, there are. There’s … one more.”

“Oh?” Resa blinked and smiled down at her great-grandmother. “When will we file that one?”

There was no pause before she answered this time. “We won’t.”

“Why not?” Resa regretted it a moment later when she heard Rey take a staggering breath inward. She placed her hand gently on Rey’s shoulder. “Oh - I’m not trying to - I only wanted to-”

“These past months with you have meant … so much to me.” Rey patted Resa’s hand, and that made her feel a little better. “I can’t believe someone as young as you would care about my story.”

“I do.” Resa walked around the chair and knelt down in the sand to hold Rey’s hand. “I do care - it’s meant a lot to me too, Nana.”

“Sweet girl.” Rey patted her cheek gently, her skin paper-thin and warm from the sun. Resa smiled at her and waited - that was the key, she’d come to realize. Waiting, and listening.

“That letter.” Rey coughed lightly and then shook her head. “I don’t want to share it yet because …” Resa could hear the water roaring in and fading back out behind her. “...because the ending of the story … it’s mine. At least for now, it’s mine.”

“I understand,” Resa said softly, touching Rey’s frail wrist before standing. She half-turned towards the water and then laughed. “Look! There’s Tío P!”

Fifty-five years old (fifty- _ six  _ in just a few weeks), Prospero Dameron ran down the beach as quickly as one would expect from someone thirty years younger. His skin was a lighter brown than his father’s, but the dark curls and the shape of his nose -- Resa could see the smiling, handsome man from Nana’s photos in him.

He slowed as he neared them, laughing cheerfully at the sight of his mother and great-niece. “Mamá,” he greeted her, coming to a halt completely and kissing her cheek. “How are you today?”

“Better now.” Rey sighed and smiled up at him. “Oh, little Poe, it’s good to see you.”

Tío P laughed boisterously, the shape of his smile remarkably his father’s-- the only difference in his face, Resa realized, were his clever, hazel eyes. 

Rey’s eyes.

“Can I take it from here?” Prospero asked grandly, pretending to bow. Rey laughed and held her arms up to her son, and he lifted her gently from her chair and carried her down the beach.

Resa folded up the wheelchair and picked it up so Rey could have somewhere to sit; she followed them along the rocky sand, watching how carefully Prospero tread so he wouldn’t jostle his mother.

There was a tightness in her throat that Resa couldn’t ignore -- the tenderness of Prospero as he held his mother: it looked so much like Rey holding him when he was a baby, in the proud photos that Táta had taken in the fifties and sixties. 

He carried  _ her  _ now, and the waves trickled up the beach before half-sinking, half-falling back to the ocean.

Once they were settled under the umbrella, Resa and Prospero on the blankets and Rey back in her chair like a stately queen whose crown was made of white clouds, Rey gestured at the water and smiled at Resa.

“Did you want to go for a swim?” She turned to Prospero. “Can’t keep her out of the water; a fish, just like your father.”

“Family traits.” Prospero winked and nudged Resa with his foot. “Go on, I’ll catch up with your Nana.”

Resa smiled and stood, waggling her fingers at them before heading to the water. She slipped off her athletic shorts but left her t-shirt on (even in June, the water was too cold and the sediment too high for her to try and swim in only the one-piece she wore under her clothing) and turned one last time with her toes in the brisk water to watch Rey and her son.

He was saying something that made Nana smile - their hands were clasped, and their words swallowed by the sound of the waves. They both looked happy: at peace. Prospero spent half his time here, and half his time in Miami - but, Resa had heard from her own mother that Prospero might stay in England for both halves of the year this year.

Resa wasn’t so foolish that she hadn’t noticed the doctor’s appointments and bills that had started to stack up.

For now though, Rey sat with her son, who looked so much like his father, and Resa watched them for a moment before walking into the water.

The shore was level for a dozen feet, and she let her skin adjust to the temperature, her fingertips dragging in the calm water; her mind wandered as she walked forward slowly, Prospero to Poe to Rey to her own grandmother, Shannon, who’d died of cancer five years ago. 

Shannon, Resa thought, slipping into the water, born in 1949. The year Rey was pulled from the water. 

She swam a few strokes before flipping to her back and studying the sky as she thought, her arms stretched out angel-wide, cool and shushed, the waves around her now and not approaching her. 

Rey and Poe had adopted Shannon in 1957, and had Prospero two years later. Resa remembered the letters and well-wishes she’d sorted two weeks ago - the love that had welcomed her grandmother into the Dameron-Kenobi family. 

She curled her fingers in the water and let out a breath and wondered if people had been as excited when  _ she  _ was born.

The thought felt selfish; it didn’t feel like her own. Resa hadn’t grown up hating herself, after all. That was new -- and every day she spent here, quietly going through the past and spending time with Rey, Resa became more and more aware of where it had come from, and how he’d needed her to hate herself to make her stay.

Resa closed her eyes and let out her breath in one, long strand -- imagining it as a cloud she released from her lungs -- and she sank beneath the surface, the water welcoming her home.

* * *

(Personal Letter, Composed August 4, 2012)

[Envelope Inscription: DELIVER TO: REY KENOBI, NOVEMBER 11, 2013]

_ Hey there, gorgeous. _

_ I hope Prospero remembered to drop this off. I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for being my wife and for making my last days -- all of my days -- so wonderful. _

_ All my love, my entire heart, _

_ Poe _

_ P.S. Might I say -- you make 88 look amazing. I really was the luckiest guy on earth. No wait: the luckiest guy in the galaxy. Still am. _

* * *

Resa looked up and wiped a tear away before handing the letter back to Rey, whose sadness couldn’t be shown in tears. Not anymore. 

“Wow.” Resa shook her head. “He wrote you - how many more are there?”

“I received one last November too,” Rey said, pointing at the last envelope in the box. “And knowing Poe - he was an … optimist … there’s quite a few more to come.”

“How do you get them?”

“The postal worker brings them here.” Rey laughed and shook her head, tapping her fingers against the envelope. 

There were a few more quiet moments before Resa couldn’t help herself from asking, “I know we aren’t going to look at the last letter, but … are there anymore family secrets to share? Like -- how did you find Táta in America? Did you have to win him back?” Rey looked at her knowingly, and Resa grinned. “Just curious, is all.”

“A quality we share,” Rey chuckled, shaking her head slowly. “But no. Maybe no more secrets, but … some things will and should remain … private.”

“Private?” Resa echoed.

Rey smiled at the empty fireplace in the study and sighed, settling into the armchair-- Resa thought she had fallen asleep for a second until Rey spoke again. 

“That’s part of … my story. And it’s in the past. No need for another … plot twist.” 

* * *

(Late October, 1951)

The days felt longer when they should be getting shorter.

It was still warm in Miami, even as autumn fell over the rest of the country - and hemisphere. But it hurt too much to think about fall in England, how the trees that brushed against the window panes of Hope Cottage would now be losing their leaves -- it hurt too much to think about the leaves under the heel of her boot as she sorted through the day’s errands.

From letters he’d received in early September, Finn was staying in England, but in London. He’d visit the Cottage when he could, but Jannah and Rose had moved on to Amsterdam in their travels. Poe was glad that at least Leia was still there, and maybe Luke too.

He didn’t want to think about Rey, alone.

He felt alone enough: he had Kes though, and while his father could walk again, his energy was still low enough to be a concern, and most of Poe’s days were spent at his father’s side, or doing errands for him in town when he was too weak to go himself.

Every minute he was in town though, Poe spent in terror -- wondering if when he got back, his father would be gone. 

He was able to write though, when his father was asleep, and the stories poured out of him now. There were days here and there where his grief would seize him ferociously, and he couldn’t do much besides stare at the walls. But, most days, he was able to write on his actual typewriter, and he sent three manuscripts to Snap -- one, the travel novel he’d intended, and two of a different kind altogether about space and fighting among the stars -- before the middle of October.

Sometimes, he woke up from dreams crying -- he couldn’t remember the shape of those dreams, only that Rey had been there, holding him, and she wasn’t there when he woke up.

Sometimes, he screamed awake, dreams of fire and now of water, too, dreams where Rey never came out of the ocean. He’d see her in those dreams, both of them in the water, her dress twisted around her, hazel eyes empty, and no matter how hard he swam down, she sank faster, until blackness swallowed first her, and then him.

Sleep was no escape - nor had it been for years - but Poe wasn’t sure what else to do with his time when he wasn’t writing or wasn’t caring for his father. He was in stasis, exhausted and his nerves frayed, but as time wore on and he heard nothing from England, his grief became petrified inside him, turning his insides wooden until it didn’t and couldn’t stab at him in the same way.

It was surprising to him, then, when his father looked up randomly from a letter he’d received in the mail with a small smile and suggested they go to the club.

“The club,” Poe repeated, blinking in surprise as he looked up from his newest manuscript. “Like … a nightclub?”

“No, like a club sandwich.” Kes swatted him with the newspaper. “Yes, a nightclub.”

“But.” Poe frowned. “Dad, you can’t dance -”

“That’s rude. I’ll have you know, it was my dance moves that convinced your mother to dump her last boyfriend, the ass-”

“Dad.” Poe laughed and then gripped his father’s wrist as he was waving his arm around demonstratively like a waltz. “Dad, you  _ shouldn’t  _ be dancing. You heard the doctor: no strenuous exercise.”

“Hmph.” Kes shook his head. “Well then,  _ you  _ can dance.”

“I don’t think I want to-”

“It’s settled!” Kes smacked the table and beamed. “Dancing tonight, 8 o’clock sharp. Wear your best shoes, and find a pretty girl to dance with.”

Another stab in his gut. “Dad.” Poe swallowed. “I don’t  _ want  _ to find a pretty girl-”

“I hear you,” Kes’s voice softened, “And I understand, but … you’re young, Poe. And … I would like to see you happy before I … in case …”

Poe bit back an angrier response and only nodded: there was no harm in dancing, he figured. He could dance. He just wouldn’t be able to dance with --

\-- His mind flashed back to the sitting room at Hope Cottage, Rey in his arms while he sang to her, spinning around the furniture and laughing, their noses pressed together and her hand so warm and soft in his --

“Sure, dad,” Poe managed to say, “8 o’clock.”

* * *

(2015)

“Is there anything else you need?” Resa asked, helping Rey settle in the chair lift; she hit the button for it to move upward as Rey shook her head, and then followed her Nana up the stairs to the landing. 

“I think I’m good for the evening, dear.” Rey smiled at her as Resa helped her out of the chair and walked with her to her bedroom. “We should probably look at moving me downstairs after you leave.”

Resa’s heart twisted at the thought. “I don’t need to leave,” she said hastily, “I - I like it here. With you.” She blinked back tears. “I like spending time with you.”

“And I do too.” Rey patted her cheek as Resa settled her on the bed. “But you have a life to live, Teresa. You can’t keep spending time on a life that’s already gone by.”

“I-”

“College, and a job, and a love of your own, if you want it.” 

Rey sighed and her fingers combed through the blanket subconsciously. Resa swallowed back a complaint and handed Rey her pills and the glass of water by the bedside. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Resa admitted. 

“Well.” Rey smiled at her before speaking. “It’s only June, and your term starts in--”

“August.”

“August,” Rey repeated. “We have time to … adjust. But for now, I need some sleep.”

“Of course.” Resa sniffed and nodded, bending down to kiss Rey on the forehead. “Goodnight, Nana.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

Rey watched her great-granddaughter go to the door, and once she’d shut it quietly behind her, she let out a soft breath and shook her head. The girl  _ did  _ need to move forward: it was Rey’s lot to stay in the past, not Teresa’s.

She fumbled around until she managed to hit the triangle on the music player Resa had brought her, and the music on the contraption shuffled. Rey recognized the song immediately, and her eyes misted over as she smiled in a grieving happiness.

As the song continued, her hand went to the drawer of her bedside table.

It slid open easily enough for someone whose grip was as weak as hers, and Rey huffed to herself, cross as always at how much slower the world was around her these days.

And there it was: the last letter, the one she told Resa she wouldn’t show her. Because it  _ was  _ Rey’s. She herself read it only rarely, but … but no, it would be hers, until the end.

* * *

(1951)

The music poured out from the band, a mixture of Latin and American pop -- the dresses were beautiful as couples danced out on the floor, and if Poe was being fair, he’d think the girls wearing the dresses were beautiful, too. 

But he still couldn’t think like that, and he was confident that he’d never be able to, not when Rey was an ocean away from him and his own damnable pride had kept him from writing her.

Not that she’d written him either, of course. 

No, Rey had been clear that things were over between them, and Poe’s heart probably wouldn’t recover from loving someone who didn’t love him back.

Dancing was just dancing, he told himself. He could dance with a girl and not have it be a betrayal to his heart, or to Rey (who was his heart). 

“I’m starting to think it was a mistake to bring your old man with you,” Kes half-shouted over the music. “Although I think that girl over there is making eyes at me.”

Poe glanced over at a pretty girl at the bar, who was waving at Kes. He snorted. “Dad, that’s Rosa from down the block -- you’ve known her since she was twelve.”

“Oh, now I feel gross.” Kes shuddered and went back to his tonic (“all tonic, no gin,” he’d said sadly to the bartender). “Aren’t you going to dance, mijo?”

“Maybe.” Poe shrugged and looked away from the bar because a few girls had spotted him and started giggling and nudging each other. His throat felt tight. “I think we should head home soon, you need some rest.”

“I need to see my boy dancing.” Kes clapped him on the shoulder and laughed as the song ended. The band rustled their music around, and the conductor looked out into the club, signalling to someone in the crowd. 

Poe shrugged again and tapped his fingers on the table. “I think I need some fresh air.”

The band played a few notes, and Poe stiffened in recognition. “No. I - I  _ really _ need some fresh air-”

“What do you have against the Andrews Sisters?” Kes asked, and then protested as Poe grabbed his jacket. “Mijo, no, wait, stay a minute-”

“I gotta get outta here,” Poe muttered, his face hot. Damn it all, he was going to cry at a nightclub - “I should...”

“Mijo,  _ stay _ ,” Kes demanded, “Stay and  _ look _ -”

He tugged at Poe’s sleeve, but Poe was already scanning the floor of the club for a quick exit before he couldn’t breathe at all anymore. It was like he was in that damn sitting room, Rey in his arms, her eyes beautiful as she looked at him from across the dance floor -

-From across the dance floor -

_ From across -- _

Poe’s breath staggered in his chest and stopped as the opening notes of that song -  _ their song  _ \- lingered among the smoke and background chatter that filled the club.

“Rey.” He mouthed, vaguely aware of Kes still tugging at his sleeve.

Rey Kenobi was there, wearing a beautiful green dress, her hands twisted in front of her as she stood in the middle of the dance floor.

“Rey.” Poe grabbed his dad’s arm and tugged right back. “Papá, Papá, look - it’s - it’s her-”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Kes chuckled, and when Poe glanced down at him, in a state of semi-shock, he saw that his dad was  _ smirking.  _ As though he -

“Like I said.” Kes gave his hip a push and kept smirking. “It’s time you danced with a pretty girl.”

Poe stumbled forward when Kes pushed him again, and he stared at Rey, who looked steadily nervous -- he wasn’t smiling, he realized. But his face wouldn’t respond to anything, and his eyes kept filling with tears because - this couldn’t be real. This had to be a cruel, awful dream, and he would walk towards her, and she’d be pulled back into shadow, out of reach, and -

Poe walked towards her, and Rey stayed, solidly, truly there, as a female singer in the band began to sing:

_ “I can see, you’ll never belong to me -- but I can dream, can’t I? _ ”

The other couples had all slowed down from the last number, and about half had gone to get refreshments, so it was easy enough to walk towards her. Easy, and nearly impossible, because Poe thought he was walking in an earthquake he was shaking so hard.

Rey stayed put, her hands twisted together -- her dress fit her well, and her sweater was gone, no doubt in deference to the warmer temperature. He could see her scar, the horrible one that had been burned onto her by a cruel hand, but he barely glanced at it as he was taking the whole of her in. 

Her hair was the same color, and her eyes were still that miraculous shade of hazel, greener in this light and in that dress -- she was beautiful, and she looked … so impossibly scared.

“Rey?” Poe said softly, coming to a stop in front of her, the dream-like feeling not fading from the moment. “Rey - how - how are you here-”

“I took a boat,” Rey said, laughing nervously. “That seems to be the way to get to Miami from England.”

“Right.” Poe shook his head and then laughed, too. “Silly question - but - I mean, sw-- Rey, the water-”

“It wasn’t easy,” Rey said softly. “But … I had to be somewhere important.”

She looked pale, he realized, exhausted to the point of sickness, circles under her eyes -- it took almost five days to cross the Atlantic, and he doubted she’d slept at all on the boat, surrounded by the water that had killed Ben and had nearly killed her, too. But she was  _ here,  _ and-

“I thought we could dance,” Rey said, holding a hand out to him.

It was as though the months apart collapsed down into nothing -- the grief and pain were still there, but they were standing now in the shadow of how fiercely his love for her blazed. She was  _ here,  _ he thought as he took her hand, she was - 

Her hand, still slightly calloused and yet so soft, felt right in his as he pulled her too him, and they started to sway, his other hand at her waist, and her hand at his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” Rey whispered as they moved together slowly. “I should have -”

“Don’t be sorry,” Poe murmured, still trying to take it all in -- he couldn’t deny that she was real, not when her body was pressed to his. The ache in his chest throbbed still, but it faded against the softness of her touch, her voice. “Don’t be-”

“I’d cross a thousand oceans before I let you go again,” Rey said, tears in her voice. The band looped back to the refrain, and Poe swallowed back his own tears. “And I  _ am  _ here to say sorry-”

“Don’t say sorry,” Poe pleaded with her, holding her closer somehow. “Don’t-”

“I have to,” Rey protested, “Because I was  _ wrong _ .”

“No,” Poe shook his head, “No, it was an impossible situation--”

“Listen to me.” He stopped talking at once, and Rey pressed her face into his neck for a moment; he could feel her shuddering, and he brought his hand to her hair, cupping her head gently as she breathed unsteadily.

Then, she straightened up and looked him in the eye -- his breath was caught all over again at how beautiful she was, at how badly he’d missed her, and that was before she said:

“I was wrong. I was wrong and I was  _ cruel  _ to say that I barely knew you.”

Those words had haunted him, truthfully, and had caused more than one moment of doubt. Poe studied her face as she closed her eyes and worked through something in her head.

“I know you,” Rey whispered, opening her eyes and looking at him. And in her eyes, he saw -- no, that couldn’t be - “I know you, there is no  _ barely,  _ I completely know who you are. I was wrong to say otherwise. I do know.”

“You do?” Poe asked, hope strangling his voice.

Rey nodded and laughed. “I came all this way to say it: I know who you are. You’re … you’re the man I love.”

The world upended, and yet Poe had never felt more at peace -- a contradiction, given how her very appearance had shocked him, and her words shocked him more. But it was a surprise that healed, not upset. 

Still. “Could you,” Poe ducked his head. “Could you say it again?”

He wanted to remember this perfectly, and he was crying before she finished saying, “I love you, Poe.”

They held each other close as Poe breathed out shakily, their foreheads pressed together as their feet forgot to move.

* * *

(Personal Letter, June 3, 2012)

_ Sweetheart, _

_ The doctor says I don’t have much time. Time? I want to tell him I’ve had so much of it. I couldn’t even envision getting thirty years when I was going down in a plane over the ocean — and I’ve had 97, beautiful years, sixty of which I’ve spent with you, my darling girl. _

_ You will always be a marvel, the most wonderful star that ever blazed across the sky. Even if my eyes don’t work as well as they used to, I know you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.  _

_ Don’t be sad, my love. Not over me. Never over me. I suppose I’m doing the cruel thing of leaving first, and I know I promised you I'd always be there, but I’m hoping you can find it in your perfect heart to forgive me.  _

_ I’ve had 97 years, all of which I’m thankful for. Two children I love dearly, seven more grandchildren to adore, and even, miraculously, five great grandchildren to dote on. And at the center of this full, miraculous life has been you. _

_ The world is growing dark. I see that now. But it makes it harder to be wary of it when I have had so much light around me.  _

_ I would want you to know that I’ve treasured every one of my years on this earth, but I’d ask for a hundred more - even if they were terrible ones - if I could see you smile one last time before the dark is all I know.  _

_ Don’t be sad for me, my love. We have built a life, a home, so happy together, and that life and that home will still be there when my life is not. If there is anything after this, an infinity that stretches onward, I welcome it. It takes an infinity to love someone like you as much as I do. And a forever spent loving you doesn’t sound half-bad.  _

_ This would be easier if I knew I would see you again, but you, who reminded me truly what hope was, might forgive me for hoping a little more. And when I’m gone, I hope you think of me and know that I still think you’re beautiful. That I still love you. Endlessly. Truly.  _

_ Always yours, _

_ Poe _

_ P.S. I know. I’m scared too. But you always were the stronger one. I love you, and thank you, for sharing your strength with me for so long. I’m sure I’ll need it a little longer. _

* * *

Rey folded the letter and closed her eyes, swaying to the song that quietly played through the room she had shared with the man she loved for sixty years —

The music wrapped around her, an embrace that cared for neither time nor space. Rey slipped backwards through the past, crossing through a veil that had been drawn by age and grief and loss, flipping through the faded pages of her memory - faded and yet it felt as though the ink were still drying - and  _ oh,  _ what a story she saw:

Their last anniversary, sitting quietly by the sea while Poe stared out at the waves where their grandchildren and great-grandchildren laughed;

Herself round with child, their sweet, good Prospero who was as miraculous as his name suggested; 

The day she held Shannon in her arms and  _ knew _ she would be her daughter, loved and treasured as fiercely as though she had carried her inside her; 

Poe holding both her hands as they stood at the altar on her second wedding day, flowers in her hair and the members of Poe’s squadron shouting and laughing in the aisles, Finn whistling from his place as best man, Jannah and Rose holding hands proudly without fear, Cassian crying as he and Jyn walked her down the aisle, Luke officiating and crying too so that Leia had to step in; 

The water beneath her as she stood on a boat on the Atlantic, cold and frightened and anxious that she was coming too late --

And then the pages of the story came to a stop on one, soft, shining moment that time could not wither and grief could not steal away.

She was twenty-five again, safe in the arms of the man who loved and would always love her.

The chorus had faded and all she could hear in that crowded bar was his soft voice singing:

_ “I can see, you’ll never belong to me — but I can dream, can’t I?” _

She pulled back to smile at him, and he brushed his nose against hers, his eyes happy even if he wasn’t smiling. 

“We don’t have to dream anymore, darling -- do we?” Her breath caught as she spoke, but it was from happiness and not grief; no longer would her story be a tragedy. “We really do belong to each other.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and didn’t say a word: he didn’t have to. They were, after all, two people who understood each other, and basking in his quiet joy, Rey felt that he knew it too. 

Poe knew that she was his, and he was hers. It was as though she could see it again, the weaving paths that led to their future; and, the path she’d feared for so long, that tangled, winding path that led to pain and heartbreak, crumbled into dust and until all she knew was that perfect, infinite moment where Poe held her in his arms.

She had found him, her handsome pilot with kind eyes and a good heart, and they would hold each other now. They would make each other a home.

Poe kissed her sweetly as the next song began to play. 

**_END_ **

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who read this, to everyone who left a kudos or an encouraging comment, to people who messaged me and poured their own hearts out in response to this fic. This fic in particular was a labor of love, and I couldn't have imagined when I was outlining this in February that it would come to mean so much to me. 
> 
> Thank you again for letting me share this story with you, and I hope you found some enjoyment in it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading xoxoxo
> 
> And, of course, as we continue the stressful social isolation, and given the topic of this story, here's some information for anyone who needs it:
> 
> https://www.thehotline.org/2020/03/13/staying-safe-during-covid-19/ -- some information for people suffering from domestic violence during the COVID19 pandemic. You can also call 1-800-799-7233 and if it’s unsafe to talk, you can chat by texting LOVEIS to 22522.
> 
> Stay safe and well <3  
> 


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